


The Interloper

by Rellah



Series: The Interloper [1]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Drama, Family Drama, Major Original Character(s), Memories, Multi, Mystery, POV Alternating, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Romance, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 07:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 39,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22072060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rellah/pseuds/Rellah
Summary: In 2180 a human Terminus Systems colony, Proserpina, is attacked by slavers and recluse Paxton Harbor is embroiled in a plot that could leave everyone he knows dead...or worse.Left reeling from the attack, Paxton can’t move on from the colony’s raid. The 21-year-old is thrusted into finding out why the slave gang attacked Proserpina and why the shadowy leader has a fixation on him and his family.An unlikely team with social pariahs, wannabe politicos, and Citadel insiders is forced together to stop the slavers before they strike again. With him is his distant sister, Alexandria, estranged childhood friend, Arcadius Ataraxia, outsider hacker Justine Holguín, Terminus outlaw Razum’Vera, and diplomats Melanie Harbor and Valerius Ataraxia.With the increasing levels of violence, threats, and adversity, the group embarks on a galaxy-wide hunt to stop the slavers. And for Paxton, his hunt of the slavers makes him realize he’s more connected than he wants to believe.Will Paxton figure out the clues before another strike by the gang destroys his family, his friends, and the web of lies he's entangled himself in?There’s only one thing that’s for certain: Time is running out for Paxton Harbor
Relationships: Original Male Character(s)/Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s)/Original Male Turian Character(s)
Series: The Interloper [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1588723
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. Proserpina's Abduction

Breaths.

It was all he could hear; shallow, fast breaths exiting out from mouth as he tried—and he desperately tried—to fill his lungs with air. When he tried to raise his head, it was slammed back down with a blunt object. A weakened, tired, defeated scream came from him but, at this point, it nothing more than a low grunt. He tried mumbling some words, but they were lost in a state of confusion and pain.

Pain.

It was all he could feel; sharp, stinging, paralyzing pain stretching across his body. From his toes, the back of his hand, and to his head he could feel nothing but an unending stream of pain shooting across his body. Each time he tried to think another forceful blow struck his body. It seemed like days, maybe even _months_ , of this unstoppable and never-ending flow of pain in his body. There was nothing in his mind anymore besides just wanting the pain to stop. He just wanted it to be over.

“Again.” Said a disembodied voice. It was a cold, stern voice ringing with authority. There was no feeling in that voice; no smug confidence or pleasure—it just issued out orders without hesitation.

Another blow struck his body. Another agonizing slam against his body, resulting in another broken scream that did little to stop the pain. He felt his vision blur. Even though he was stationary, he felt as if he was spinning in a rapid, circular motion. A few intelligible words came out from his mouth, but they were jumbled and slurred.

“Speak.”

Suddenly a sharp needle pressed into his skin, making him wince and twitch at first, but after a few moments he slowly raised his head. The pain, albeit still there, was subdued. For the first time in, what seemed to an eternity, he could think. What day was it? Did any days, months, _years_ pass? It didn’t matter at this point, he just wanted to go home.

His vision was still blurry, and he could only make out the figure before him, but his vision was still weak and could barely make out the figure’s features. A bright white light flushed out his vision. The figure, darkened in a silhouette, brought its fingers underneath his chin. The figure raised his head slowly until their eyes met.

“Speak.” The figure was more agitated.

But he couldn’t. All he wanted was to go home and lay in bed, to sleep and forgot all of this. He wanted to provide an answer but nothing besides confused sounds were given out. There was a disconnect; when he spoke, he knew what he was saying but what he heard wasn’t his voice, but instead a dying animal waiting, _wanting_ to be put down

Another blow hit against him.

“Speak.” The figure, now sounding more frustrated than annoyed, gripped its weapon and raised it above him. This was no longer an order; this was a _warning_.

Nothing could escape his mouth now, absolutely nothing. There was nothing left to say. The figure was going to keep hitting, he would keep feeling the pain, and the cycle of blacking-out and reawakening to more pain would continue. There was no point to even try at this point.

It wasn’t going to stop.

The figure raised its weapon once more, bringing it over their head. For a brief moment they locked glances. And during that moment, he thought they were going to stop as the figure’s face looked…glum. But he was wrong. The face twisted into a snarl before falling into a contemptuous glare.

With this incoming blow, he didn’t know if he was going to wake up.

***

_“THE WORLD IS ENDING!” Shouted a woman as she pointed her finger at the sky. She ran away as her floppy dress flung behind her. Into the neighborhood she went and screeched her larynx out. “THEY’RE FROM ABOVE!”_

_After the woman’s warnings, the blue sky above had begun to grow dimmer, shifting into a bleak and gloomy gray. The ground below shook from the stampede of people scrambling in fear. Within an instant, flying saucers flew down from the sky. Red beams flung out from the ships, creating a spectacle of explosions in the neighborhood._

_Some people grabbed their guns, or took their family and hobbled into a car, and others hid away inside a closet to pray. All they knew was their world was shattering from above, and they could do absolutely nothing about it._

_Extended past the neighborhood was a city, with glorious skyscrapers that soared into the sky. Now those skyscrapers were being bombarded with red beams being shot at them. The air in the world had grown heavy and black, its clogged people’s throats as they tried to breath. Houses, lawns, and buildings all burned down with an intense, deep, and voracious fire._

_Destroying everything._

“Tasteless.” He murmured, quickly swiping the old black and white human vid off from his tablet. He shook his head while bringing up a mug of coffee to his mouth. When he sat the, now empty, mug onto the table, he scanned his eyes around the café.

In the café were groups of colonists who were huddled around tables laughing and clinking their mugs. There were a few lovers who were united under a band of lights dangling from the ceiling. Other people were making small talk as they ate their meals at the counter. They dressed in outfits made for laborers, miners, and farmers, and their dusty appearances—weathered hands, cracked faces, and fingertips dotted with calluses

Alone in the corner of the café sat the 21-year-old Paxton Harbor. To Paxton, ending up alone in a café with an, also, empty mug of coffee seemed romantic. But he’d rather describe it as cliché. He stared down into the transparent mug, it glistened with reflections from the room. Looking into the bottom of it, besides dried of bits of coffee, Paxton could see himself staring back. In the reflection were two blue, large eyes blinking back at him.

Paxton ran his fingers through his hair; it was short, but it was noticeably growing out. He tied a purple bandanna around his head. The bandanna was more of a cap to him as it covered the top of his head and some of his hair, but het two locks of his dark brown hair spill out from either side of his head. The bandanna was plain, it lacked any patterns, it just was solidly purple.

The café smelled of freshly baked goods, grinded coffee beans, and a cinnamon scent that spread out from the bakery section. The faces of the colonists were bright, their smiles stretching along their faces, forever. It was only a wonder to Paxton if these people’s faces hurt after an hour. All except for one.

She stood behind the counter wearing an apron and a matching visor; her nametag was flipped backwards. She had long, wavy black hair which was shaved on one side of her head and was wrapped into a ponytail. She was tan and young, around Paxton’s age, and had a smile on her face that didn’t use her eyes. Her laugh lines showed around her grin. No one around her seemed to stop by, except when they were giving her their order. Paxton saw the little twitch in her smile, the force in her perky eyebrows and bright features.

They exchanged glances, then Paxton forced his down to his tablet and picked up his stylus from the table. The tablet was in the shape of a long rectangle with a shiny black border and a glowing blue screen. Paxton opened a section in his tablet where his journal entries were. He then started to make elegant, quick scribbles on the holographic screen. He fiercely traced the stylus along the screen where he made fast lines of words appear.

_July 9, 2180_

_Did she see me? I really hope not, I hope she doesn’t think that I’m stalking her or something. Glances are just glances, no one pays any attention to them, right? The girl doesn’t seem to care, though she seems like she doesn’t care about much. Well, the people around her don’t. It’s weird, Proserpina is supposed to be the grandiose highlight of humans’ colonization. Our show of strength that we colonize fast. She stands so…longingly. Like she’s missing something, but no one sees it. I don’t know, she just seems so empty—_

“You need a refill? They’re only half a credit.” The girl said with a stinging amount of apathy in her voice. In her hand was a jar of brewed coffee which had steam flying from the lid. Paxton slowly shook his head as he tugged at the cuffs of his long-sleeved purple shirt. She tilted her head with a sigh and looked across the room, then turned her head back to Paxton. “You’re not from here, are you?”

With a quiet voice, Paxton responded. “No.”

“What? I didn’t hear you.”

With a burning in face and knots forming between his fingers, Paxton spoke louder. “No, I’m not from here…why?”

“Well, everyone around here is smiles all the time. Except you. For the past week and a half, I’ve seen you come in here every day and sit in this little corner all by yourself. Never talking to anybody.” She flicked the lid open and coffee poured into Paxton’s mug. With a wink, she put her finger up to her lips. “You’re like me.”

“Oh, well, um, you’re too nice. Thanks.” Paxton replied. “So, you’re not from Proserpina?”

“I’m supposed to be on the Citadel, that’s where I go to school. I’ve done my internship with Alliance techies and I’ve got to go back home.” She shook her head. “The school forget what they were doing and gave me a one-way ticket and won’t pay for another trip. They think I messed up. Can you believe it? Anyways, my parents can’t afford my trip. Now I’m trying to make ends meet by living off tips. Spending on hotel rooms gets costly. Fast. I really think I should just camp out in a cave somewhere; might discover a new type of worm or something.” She sighed. “I only need about three hundred more credits to leave.”

“I hope everything works out then.”

“You and me both, chokes.” She jested, pointing at Paxton’s black choker that hugged around his neck. It was moderately sized, soft, and had a sliver ring in the middle. “What? That was _very_ 2177.” She went back to standing behind her counter and he went back to writing.

_I guess people watching pays off for once. Free coffee, quick conversation, I mean what else could I ask for? I mean, I did get a new name, it’s definitely not the worst one. All in good fun, for once. I guess._

After a several minutes of sheepish sipping, Paxton sat the coffee-less mug on the table. His tablet—made of a thin plastic frame with a holographic screen with haptic-feedback—glistened with a new notification. Taking the tablet in his hands, a message was strung along the screen. Its contents were a simple greeting, **Hello** _._ The sender’s address was blocked.

Confused, Paxton swiped the message aside, deleting it from his device. He then took his tablet and stylus into his black messenger bag and slung it across his body. Paxton stood up from the chair and started to pace towards the counter, where the girl stood indefinitely. On the counter was a kiosk, he pressed in a few numbers on the screen. Paxton glanced back at her, then back the screen, then back at her, when he finally rested his eyes on the screen, he added a _few_ extra credits.

“Uh, your price is only three credits, you put in 300 credits for a tip.” Her voice trailed off as Paxton shrugged his shoulders while giving a slight smile. Her face became even more pale than it already as her mouth dropped from her jaw. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

“Last flight to the Citadel leaves in four hours, so…”

“You better not be kidding.”

Paxton shook his head.

“Jesus Christ…” She stood back a small amount and took several deep breathes. Then she started to slowly pace back and forth with her hands in her face.

Inside the café, a loud shout escaped from her mouth. The shout made people who were seated jolt, and one unfortunate man, who was reading a book, fall from his chair. People from the outside raised their brows as they peered into the window. The girl almost jumped across the counter; she squeezed Paxton close. He gave a few soft pats on her heaving back as she sucked the life from his body.

The girl quickly undid her apron, threw off her visor, and let loose her hair from its ponytail. She quickly tapped her fingers against the counter while her smile grew across her face.

“Okay, well, I’ve got to get out of here. Like now. God, I am so excited.” The girl spoke quickly and hopped over the counter. “Hey, look, thank you. I literally cannot tell you enough times thank you.” She swung her hands in her pockets and swayed somewhat. “So thank you, again.”

“It’s really no problem.”

“You probably just saved my life.” The two walked out of the café together, ignoring the angry shouts of her former employer, who was calling for her to get back to work. “I don’t know if you’ll ever see me again, or if I’ll see you again, but I want you to know that if you’re ever on the Citadel and want to see me, head to the Low-Life Lounge. The code is 0451. I owe you one.”

The girl walked away from Paxton before he called out to her.

“Wait,” Paxton blurted. “What is your name?”

“Why would I give my name out if there’s a chance I’ll never see you again? It’s stupid but maybe it’ll be like one of those old romantic vids where a guy finds the ‘mystery girl’ years after meeting her.” She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe I’ll see you in 30 years or 30 days, who knows? It’s stupid and cheesy but—”

“No,” He interrupted and stuck out his hand. “I don’t think it’s stupid at all.”

“I’m happy someone will play along.” She firmly shook his hand. “Don’t keep me waiting _too_ long.”

She then waved goodbye and skirted down the street, bouncing in her steps and clicking her heels together in an excited jump. Paxton watched as she strode down the street and occasionally turn back and smile. She then became nothing but a small blip in the crowd, disappearing from his sight.

Paxton shook his head and looked around, realizing he was standing in the way of colonists shuffling throughout the street.

Proserpina was one of the most beautiful places he’s been. The blue sky stretched far, and the lack of clouds made the sun glimmer across the pavement. The Alliance’s newest colony felt like summer to Paxton; the temperature was warm but not hot. Green, lush hills sloped down into reflective water.

It was paradise.

Much to Paxton’s surprise, Proserpina’s defenses were not as dominant and forthcoming as he expected. It wasn’t deep in the Terminus Systems, nearing the border of the Attican Traverse, but Proserpina enjoyed a safe cluster of people living their lives without any fear of any attack. To Paxton, it must’ve been patriotism and strong sense of futility to ward off any attack these colonists had, but weariness roared in his head.

Though, from his inspection, the colony could _sure_ use some more defenses. A lot more.

But Paxton stood at the edge of a market square, he paced back into a forested area and slumped against a tree, where he looked around at the square’s colonists. The shops around the square were built out of the pre-packaged, assembly line units made for colonies, but the colonists took a creative turn and added decorations; modifying their stores for their own purposes. Whether they be bookstores, florists selling plants, or simple boutiques where middle aged woman dragged their husbands in; there was a sense of hominess and nostalgia stirring inside of him.

A small family caught Paxton’s attention. Two parents, two little children around a water fountain. The children, when their parents turned around, pushed each other into the fountain and splashed each other. Their parents were horrified at first, especially the mother until her husband splashed water onto her.

It just seemed… _right_ to Paxton. It brought a slight smile upon his face.

In the square, a platform was being set up. A small stage that stood upright against with the background, with it being the bustling shopping district of Proserpina and the surrounding fields and tram ways that swerved around. On the stage, chairs were being arranged in rows and a glass lectern that was stationed in the middle. Its circular seal was then pressed on; the logo of the Human Embassy with a title swirling around it: OFFICE OF THE SECRETARY-GENERAL OF THE HUMAN EMBASSY.

Now _that_ official brought on a…confusing feeling. Paxton watched as the stage was being up for the Secretary-General.

The Secretary-General was responsible for overseeing the diplomatic mission of an embassy; they are administrators. The Secretary-General was appointed by the government of each species to directly oversee the Ambassador, or the Councilor if an embassy had one. Thought not as publicized as the actual representatives, they held power in negotiations with appointing diplomats and working with fellow Secretaries-General.

While the Councilors and Ambassadors did the diplomatic work, the Secretary-General focused on the day-to-day functions of the embassy; budgeting with the Citadel Council and other Secretary-General offices, making sure immigration is working, and other tasks to make sure the embassy was functioning. The Secretary-General made sure the official representatives could do their jobs without interference from government mismanagement…and the resulting political fallout that would follow.

The Secretary-Generals weren’t official representatives, but they were instrumental in maintaining relations with other embassies and ensuring political, military, and economic deals were approved. In some cases, a Secretary-General could initiate a directive or, if given permission by a top representative, act as a diplomat in getting colony charters. Due to them not being in the spotlight, they tended to serve longer terms which allowed positive relations to foster, or for stand-offish rivalries to fester.

Paxton moved along and looked towards a forest and found an empty, desolate dirt path. Taking a walk down the path, Paxton let the leaves under his black boots crunch and felt the wind wave his hair behind him. Furthering himself away from the people and into the quiet woods, Paxton hummed as the loudness of the market square faded into the background.

Sitting on the ground, Paxton put his back against a fallen log of a tree and took out his tablet and stylus, again.

_This. Quietness and peace, alone with myself from them. Nothing can beat spending time alone on colony light years away from home. I hope that girl gets back to the Citadel, I’d hate for her to stranded here. Paradise is paradise until someone takes Proserpina to the Underworld. Proserpina’s abduction is never a pretty sight._

_Maybe I’ll be spared from the Underworld. Or at least I’ll get a shining golden badge for helping out that girl. Whoever she is, I’ll try to make it to the “Low-Life Lounge” or whatever she calls it. Sounds a place to shoot up on red sand and get drunk until you can’t remember what caused you to drink in the first place. Sounds fun. Oh the Secretary-General would be so proud,_

His tablet ringed with another notification. Paxton let his frustration fly out his mouth a sigh, he opened the message from _her_.

**Be at the tram stop, I’ll be at Platform 4. We should be heading back now.**

Rolling his eyes, Paxton shook his head and threw his tablet and stylus into his bag. He laid on the ground for a moment, glaring upwards at the leaves hanging over him. The light pushed itself through every crack in between every leaf, it created a spectacle of spotted light glistening over him and leaving parts of him left in the dark. On his face was a fight between it wanting to droop with a frown or be pulled back with contempt. He settled with blankness, for it required no effort.

There was something about this forest, this little dirt path with trees looming over Paxton that made him feel a sharp twang of memories flowing into his mind. It blurred between mismatched emotions, there was twist in his stomach and his hair started to stand. His eyes darted upwards and downwards; they threw themselves across the forest’s ceiling. Paxton sighed, he shoved his body upwards, slung his bag across his body, and exited the forest.

Paxton shuffled himself back onto a concrete pathway down by the market square. With calmer breaths, he briskly walked down the side of the square and found himself on a way towards the tram station. He shook his head, with that, the memories of the forest found its way out from his mind. Looking at a sign on the street, it pointed towards his arrival at the tram station. Now ingrained into Paxton’s mind was _her_.

 _Her._ Just the very thought of _her_ made Paxton keep his head down, hunch his shoulders, and walk slower. Anything was better, to Paxton, than dealing with _her._ Not even after 21 years of forced togetherness, Paxton could stand to be near _her._ In his stomach, he felt as if there was two people playing tug-of-war. It’s twisting only increased as he became closer to the tram stop.

Walking through the lightly secured open station, which also acted as a spaceport. Multiple platforms stood with groups of people huddled around each other and looking towards a screen of which galactic news rolled out into their minds. They watched either sneering at the faces at the faces of non-humans, and subsequently groaning, or shrugging their shoulders and pointing their eyes at the time on the screen, groaning too at the times they’ll arrive home.

And there she was.

The pavement below him clicked from him dragging his boots, his fair skin became even paler when he saw _her_ standing at Platform 4. She stood with a tablet in her hand, her crimson slips on dress shoes tapping against the ground, and with a bite in her bottom lip. A bottom lip with one vertical streak of red lipstick in the middle.

She glowed of a deep crimson; snug around her body was a sleeveless, high collared crimson jumpsuit that had a thin dark belt around her middle. Her long, dark brown hair had slight waves in it; she rolled it around her ears. With a twist of her head, she glared at Paxton with her steely, intense gray eyes. Rung around her eyes was winged black mascara. Like a predator’s stare at prey, her glare searched into Paxton’s being—it was as if she was plotting a mission in her head.

Her name is Alexandria Harbor.

Standing next to Alex, Paxton held onto the strap of his bag, he clutched towards his chest and kept his eyes pointing down at his boots. He could feel her watching him, staring with a blank face and then shaking her head. She put her hands on her hips and gazed off into the distance of other platforms, keeping her head held high with a begrudged frown on her face.

“I have a question,” Alex said with a flat but loud voice, her face still pointing away from Paxton’s sight. “how much do sob stories cost?”

“I-I, I’m not— “

“Great,” She sighed, crossing her arms while shaking her head. “because losing 300 credits to a person that you don’t know is always a _fantastic_ way to throw away money down the drain.” Paxton looked back at her, confused. He looked as if he wanted to speak, but his mouth remained shut. Alex turned to face him. “When someone comes up to as excited as some junkie who got a new fix, talking about some guy in purple got her a ticket of this colony—you make connections.”

Paxton kept his head and shoulders slouched down, he ran his fingers along the strap of his bag and locked them around the very end. In his field of vison, he saw Alex’s fingers snap and then point up towards her eyes.

“Remember, don’t lose eye contact.”

“Right, I forgot.”

“Now Pax, if you really want to help people out you probably know _who_ you’re helping rather than _what_ you’re helping. Not every noble cause carries a noble person. For all you know she could be at a bar right now drinking up with some her friends. She probably brought a round for everyone. Typical.”

“Oh God…Alex, not this _again._ ” Paxton groaned. “That was one time two years ago. She looked homeless and sounded like she was in need.”

“ _Looked_ ,” She emphasized, “It was some asari thief who wanted your credits. They only target people like you, Pax.” Alex sighed. “Just don’t do it again.”

“Yes, Alex.” Paxton said, annoyed. “Am I supposed to be sorry to you?”

“Don’t be sorry to me,” Alex scoffed, twisting her head back to the tram. “be sorry to your bank account. _Again_.”

As soon as Alex looked towards the tram, Paxton could feel the slight vibration of tablet from his bag. With discretion, he slid out his tablet from his bag and saw another notification from the same sender from before. Their message, again, had a similar greeting from before, **Hello** _._ Paxton sighed, deleting the message again and bringing himself back to the tram in front of him.

Alex and Paxton stood in silence next to each other at the edges of the platform, never looking at the other. Standing next to each other, they were almost identical—same height at 5’10, same dark brown hair with little waves, same oval face with the same sharp jaw, same average build and fair skin, and their faces were practically indistinguishable. Besides their eye colors, and size as Alex’s were smaller, and the obvious physiological differences of their sex, the two 21-year-olds looked eerily similar.

With minor adjustments, they could pose as each other without difficulty.

“God, I hate it here.” Alex admitted. “Everything feels so… _undeveloped_. I feel like I’m walking in some strange little backwards town with a bunch of farmers neck-deep in crops and drugs. It’s unnerving.”

“It’s a _colony_ , Alex.”

“And? It’s stacked with a bunch of Earthers. Whenever I say that I’m from the Citadel they assume that I’m some kind of…snob.”

“Assume?”

“Oh you’re ridiculous.”

“ _I’m_ ridiculous?”

“Yes!”

“You’re judging people who literally are working day-in and day-out because you don’t like them! Do you know how ridiculous you sound? Just because it doesn’t meet your standards doesn’t mean it’s not great.” Alex narrowed her eyes. “That girl probably isn’t—”

“ _Probably._ Just listen to yourself, Pax”

“Oh, _I_ should?”

“Yes!”

Alex crossed her arms. “Please, if you were me, you’d understand a lot more than what you _think_ you understand. Not everyone is some kind of flower girl you can give money to and become friends. Ever think about giving some money to Arcadius Ataraxia? You could just buyback that friendship.”

Paxton, red in the face, crossed his arms as well. Alex shook her head and gave her attention to her tablet.

They stood silently next to each other, but their anger radiated off their bodies.

When the tram arrived, the Harbors walked sluggishly onto the tram. When they walked down the tram, they sat in seats separate from each other in an aisle, both shifting themselves towards the windows.

With the tram moving now, Paxton slumped against the window, his face pressing against it while he stared out into the Proserpina landscape. Becoming smaller with every second, he saw the central hub of the colony zip away into nothingness, now all the remained was miles of green trees and lush landscapes. Standing strikingly was the acrologies; needle like structures that soared into the sky for miles, housing the colonists on Proserpina, and the Harbors.

Mining facilities and farms occupied the landscape, as that was where most of the colonists worked.

He turned his head towards his sister, she had her arm resting on the arm on the chair, gazing as well into the distance. Almost in a discreet fashion, Alex had her foot slid underneath the chair in front of her, tapping it with such a velocity it made Paxton wonder why the tram hadn’t derailed yet. In the reflection, in the window in front her, she vaguely saw her brother staring over at her. Alex glared back; she twisted her upper body fully towards the window with a loud grunt.

Paxton slouched back into his seat; his body jittered from a heavy heave of air. He bowed his head and felt his frustration fade. As he looked back in the window, spotting Alex, he took out his tablet and stylus again, and wrote with a shaky, slippery hand.

_I’m sorry._

***

Like tap shoes, Alex’s flats made loud clicks on the floor while Paxton’s boots only made small beats; little sounds that trailed behind him. She was talking, more so _ordering_ , a person over a call about law school coursework.

The corridor they walked along was a steely grey, glowing with a dark blue that was strips on lights, each placed beside the walls of the corridor. Cold blue doors lined up along the walls, each stamped with a small number, name of each colonist’s last name, and small slot for mail. Reaching towards the end of the hallway, the Harbors walked towards another door, however this door had a sign placed on it, in bold letters it said, SECRETARY-GENERAL M. HARBOR.

After Alex tapped the code into the door’s keypad, they walked in.

. “…if you cannot handle the caseload, then give the work to someone who can handle—oh, so you can? Good—” Alex’s cut herself off mid-sentence when her eyes were met with a large, empty room. All there was just white containers sealed tight and large windows ingrained into the wall, shining the room with Proserpina’s light. “Something just came up. Bye.” She turned to Paxton. “Where did everything go?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Paxton shrugged his shoulders. “Scavenger hunt, maybe?”

“An answer would be nice.”

When he sighed, they heard another sigh come out from a behind a door down a hallway. Although this sigh was of relief. The two started down the hallway and stopped when they heard a woman start speaking.

“...thank you for asking. I have to say, things are going pretty well. Great colony, beautiful day—for once, things are ticking upwards. You ever feel like that? Where things are going to be okay?” Said a woman with a loud voice that raised with a calm, yet powerful excitement. From the opening of the door, they saw a woman sitting in a chair at a desk. She leaned forwards, looking intently at a computer with a turian on it. “Your people are always so busy, and I do respect that, but do turians ever have those moments where they appreciate how much they’ve accomplished?”

“Do humans ever have those moments where they do their work _then_ decide to not kick back and celebrate prematurely?” The turian on the screen replied. She kept her fingers busy by adjusting an older, outdated pistol which most likely was over decades old. She still looked over her aged weapon with the same attention and care as if it were new. “Melanie, I need to get back to work. _Someone_ needs to.”

She glared at him, shook her head, and curled her mouth into a small, tight grin. Setting the gun on the desk, she held her fingers together and rested her hand under her chin. She tilted her head and let a laugh escape from her mouth. When she stared at the glowing screen in front of her, she used her stare to search beyond the turian’s eyes.

“Get to it then, I’m not holding you back. And I’m on my legally scheduled 15-minute break, I _can’t_ be working right now. Believe me, I want to.” She said. “Look, I know it’s early, but I believe Proserpina is being called one of the Alliance’s greatest colonization efforts.”

“Only because you practically took out from the hands of the turian embassy— _my_ embassy, Melanie.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic, Valerius. I managed to convince the Alliance Prime Minister—which is pretty much _impossible_ to do in and of itself—to reduce the costs of the appropriations that _your_ people have to pay following the Fist Contact War in exchange for the colony charter. You ought to be thanking me.”

“ _Relay 314 Incident_ ,” The turian diplomat corrected as he cleared his throat. “And I suppose you’re right. Celebrate all you want.”

“Wasn’t asking for your permission.”

“As if I’d want to order you around. You’d be the worst solider to command. Too boastful.”

“You’d be the worst commander to follow orders. You’d practically beg for insubordination.” They shared a small laugh. “Now I see why your office is so slow to do anything.”

“Now I see why your office has such a high turnover rate.”

She bit her lip and eyed the turian on the screen. She set her glass on the desk and leaned forward. “I believe in time that Proserpina will become Earth 2.0—maybe even bigger. Now I may seem insane, but I know I’m right. People have always told me that I think…a bit out-there, as they’ve put it respectfully.”

“And they’re right.”

“I may seem…cocky—”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“But,” She continued. “This is the colony people are going to think when they see a human. Proserpina has more potential than I believe any of our colonies have. I know it’ll happen. And I’ll be there to see through it every step of the way.”

“Don’t be too confident or else someone is going to shoot you down, Melanie.”

“That’s why I always bring spare ammunition.” She chuckled. She tilted her head behind her and saw two sets of eyes staring back at her. “Speaking of which, I’m going to have to leave, I need to find two bullets for my gun.”

Disconnecting from the call before he could reply, she swirled her pointer finger in the air and then ticked it down to the desk a few times, prompting Paxton and Alex to come from behind the door to in front of her desk, where they then gave her a firm salute.

Around her neck was a pear neckless which was weathered somewhat. She wore a navy-blue collarless jacket and matching pants, a white shirt, and attached to her jacket was a pin of the Human Embassy on the Citadel. Her brown hair, with several light gray streaks, was cut above her shoulder’s as if she was still following military protocol.

She had a scar over her right eye; an old red slice on her face which was fading away into her fair skin. Her eyes were a dark blue, like a night sky without the sparkle of stars. It was obvious from the slight wrinkles creased around her mouth and under her eyes, that she was middle-aged, but her face still resembled that of a young woman’s crossed between a stern military commander; she was 52-years old. Even if she looked ten years younger, it didn’t break the strict look she seemed to always have. It always seemed like she knew what was going to happen, and if she didn’t—she knew _exactly_ how to respond.

Her name is Melanie Harbor.

“Where is everything?” Alex said, placing her hands on her hips.

“Hello to you, too, Alexandria.” Melanie said plainly. “Having a good day?”

“Where is everything? I’m busy and I need to speak with important people on the—”

“No.” She said firmly and pointed towards the door. “It’s packed away like your respect. _You_ can exit out the door you came from. You’ll find out sooner than later where everything is.” Melanie turned her attention to the terminal on her desk, focusing on the orange glowing screen in front of her—oblivious to the two in front of her.

Alex’s, now red, face fell with a sneer. She grimaced at first before quickly switching her face into a blank, tense calmness.

“I will speak to you later, Alexandria.”

“Yes…” Paxton saw her stumble when she picked up her flats from the ground. She turned her face back to them, glaring. “ _Ma’am_.”

She shut the door, but it was more of a slam.

Paxton looked towards his boots again and let out a small sigh, he followed in his sister’s steps and started to drag himself out the office.

“‘You’ is a singular word which was directed at a singular person. Sit.” Melanie said without breaking her gaze from the terminal in front of her. Paxton jolted, turned his back towards her, sat in the chair, and let his bag lay across his lap.

Paxton looked around the room; it was devoid of anything, containers like the ones in the entrance sat in separate corners, but in the corner of the room was a small, cot-like bed, and another copy of her suit was hung on the wall. The room felt like a prison cell; it was of a cold, steely, boxy design, and, aiding with the tightness of the room, was the light barely shining through closed blinds.

Melanie typed away at the screen in front of her face, words flinging to the screen with every stroke of her fingers across the holographic keyboard. Whenever he saw her type it was amazing because of how she expertly threw words across the screen. He was surprised that her hands didn’t detach from her wrists and run away from the speed she was going. Her eyes never left the screen, Melanie’s face was fixed in a frozen state of a stern gaze conflicting with a downturned mouth.

“I’m sorry for interrupting and prying into your conversation with Mr. Ataraxia, ma’am.” Paxton broke the silence, causing Melanie to shift herself towards Paxton. He looked at her straight in the eyes, her stare fixed upon him; he felt as if she was beyond Paxton, searching into his soul and reading beyond his outward appearance, like what she did with the turian. “It won’t happen again; you could’ve been discussing sensitive information with him and I shouldn’t have intruded upon—"

“I appreciate that, Paxton. It’s not often I hear a genuine apology from people.” Melanie’s lips turned upwards with a small smile. “Mr. Ataraxia and I were having a _causal_ discussion, it’s not anything to be worried about. We were just talking about what’s going on with our lives. Not a bad man to talk to honestly, he keeps it _entertaining_.

“And Paxton, do not eavesdrop on my calls again.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.” Paxton stammered. He ticked his fingers together. “How is, um, how is your day?” Paxton stumbled with his words, his hands twisting around the zipper of his bag. “Are you doing okay?”

“Okay?” Melanie said with a now lively voice. She turned off her terminal, she put her hands under chin and rested her elbows on the desk. A smile strung along her face; it was as if she took great pleasure in what she was about to say. “Paxton, Proserpina is doing better than the Alliance ever thought possible, it has beaten all of our projections. Our economy is shot up by an unexpected and extra .5% last year because of Proserpina! It may not seem like a lot but adding an extra couple hundred million in profits is always good.” She laughed and turned it down into a sigh. “Enough about me. Paxton, how are you?”

“That’s beside the point,” Said Paxton, shuffling in the chair. “would you like me to talk to Alex for you?”

“What? No. Your sister is being, well, your sister. I don’t know what’s bothering her. It’s a shame, a bright young woman is such a hothead. I don’t believe she likes us very much.” Melanie shook her head and collected herself with a sigh. Looking back at Paxton, her mouth formed with a slight grin. “I was going to tell you both this before Alexandria stormed off, but the reason everything is packed up is because we’re leaving the day after tomorrow and heading back home.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I wish I could stay here too, but we have to go back home or else it wouldn’t be a home anymore, yes?” Paxton nodded. “Good. Tomorrow is a day busy for us. I have to do a speech to commemorate the one-year anniversary of Proserpina. Little security this time, everything seems to be going fine. There’s not much raider or gang activity in this area of the Terminus. But it’ll be just like all the rest of the speeches Paxton: I stand behind a podium and give flattery to the people beside me for doing their jobs. Business as usual.”

“Your speech will be good as usual, ma’am.”

“Don’t kid with me, Paxton.” She chuckled, bringing a finger to her temple and leaning her arm on the desk. She cracked a half-smile and scoffed. “Look at you, you’re evading my questions. Now this time you answer, how are _you_?”

“Fine.” Paxton said. He tried to avoid her eyes, but she was relentless. He felt for the people who had to go through negotiations with her, as just her glance was enough to disarm anyone she came across.

“Just doing fine?” She calmed her voice and looked straight at Paxton, staring into her son’s eyes. “We both know you’ve got _a lot_ more to say. What’s on your mind?”

His hands slipped back into his sleeves, his fingers gnawed at the fabric and wrestled with it, twisting it around his hands. Washing over Paxton, a sharp twang of guilt pierced his stomach and made it collapse. Paxton’s face darted upwards at her, his hands still making knots with itself.

Paxton hesitated at first, but said, “When I was out today, I gave out 300—"

On Melanie’s desk, her terminal ringed. Its orange screen flashed on with a new caller. She quickly snapped the pistol to her side and rolled her hair behind her ears.

“That sounds great, Paxton. We had a good talk but now I’ve got to do a conference call with the other Secretaries-General.” She then grumbled. “Some turian seemed to forget to relay the message.” Melanie hastily moved around the room, grabbed a couple of tablets and folders and laid them across her desk. She shook her head and a great sigh came out from her mouth.

She looked down at Paxton, who was still patiently sitting in his chair, his face met with disappointment. His head pointed downwards but his eyes still met with hers. Melanie nudged her head towards the door as she proceeded to answer the call and pick up the files on her desk and discuss their importance.

Paxton slouched upwards from the chair, he put his hands into his pockets and glued his eyes towards the floor. He paced out the door and walked with slow steps down the hall, his body jumped when he heard a loud shut from Melanie’s door. Holding the bag close to his chest, Paxton’s face grew back into its default gaze; unamused eyes with a resting frown.

***

The moon hung over the night sky; its glow flooded through the blinds of the room. The shadows folded into neat lines that found their place along the floor, leaving the room in a mismatched glow of moonlight which left the room caught in a fight between darkness and lightness. Across Paxton’s face, the folding of the moonlight from behind the blinds lit his face.

Paxton sat the desk, which sat against the window of the room, and beside a bed. He had his arms resting on the desk and his arm glowed with his Omni-Tool. Paxton was pressing into it and was meddling with its functions. The orange light from his arm illuminated the room and splashed along Paxton’s eyes.

_HISS!_

A small sting of electricity zapped at the tip of Paxton’s fingers. He winced and shook the his slightly warmed hands, shaking the Omni-Tool’s shock off him. Paxton turned his Omni-Tool off and leaned back into his chair with a heavy sigh, he ticked his non-shocked hand fingers along the desk to the rhythm of his shaking head.

_This should be the easy part. Damn it, I really should not be slacking on this._ Sliding into his hands was his tablet and stylus, his eyebrows dropped once more as he tapped away at the screen. _Here we go again._

He opened the ‘Mail’ section of his tablet and scrolled through his emails, finding a starred message under the section titled: DO NOT LOOSE THESE MESSAGES. After whispering thanks towards his past self, Paxton opened a message from a person named Professor Veritas Mendacium.

**VERITAS MENDACIUM: Welcome back to Asha Institute! If you’re reading this, you’re either going to attend my classes or I’ve sent the wrong message to the wrong section of students— _again_. Though if you ARE in my Psychology and in my Tech Lab classes, I would like to introduce myself, I’m—**

Scrolling past the introduction for the umpteenth time, the screen now showed a data package with the title: OMNI-TOOL OVERCLOCKING SYLLABUS. When the file was opened and download again, much to Paxton’s displeasure. The file, which included a program to install the software needed for overclocking and a simple PDF file, listed instructions how to overclock. In the Professor’s words,

**Maximize the full capability of the unimaginably precious and powerful device that displays over all of our arms! If you have arms, that is.**

After countless and tiring readings, and then re-readings, of the instructions, Paxton sat upward in his chair again. Tossing the stylus and tablet onto the desk, opening the Omni-Tool, and then gluing his eyes and plastering his hand to the holographic tool’s screen.

Following with his fingers, Paxton’s eyes darted from one area of his Omni-Tool to another as he kept twisting down buttons and entering lines of code that spread across the screen. Paxton felt a serene calmness when working with code. Seeing all the numbers race upwards and downwards brought a satisfying feeling of control to him.

Until Paxton entered another line of code on the Omni-Tool and it started to flash red with the warning: **OVERHEATING IMINENT, REBOOT STARTED**. Pushing a great sigh from his lungs and out from his mouth, Paxton tried to tinker with his Omni-Tool some more, pushing and pressing buttons to cool it down.

His fingers moved fast, like Melanie’s. Following his fingers, Paxton’s eyes darted from one area of his Omni-Tool to another as he kept pressing down buttons and entering a random allotment of letters and numbers that appeared on the screen. With a flickering red light on the screen, a beeping noise, and an automated voice seemingly begging Paxton to stop trying to fix the Omni-Tool—he still did it anyways.

Paxton’s hand started to increase in temperature as the Omni-Tool started to become overwhelmed with the forced overclocking. As sweat fell off Paxton’s face and drip onto the desk, his fingers only increased in speed. The warming of his hand started to raise up his wrists, touched his elbows, and rose above Paxton’s arm which a sent a fiery flash. Flinching back, Paxton’s fingers fell out of order and started to slide and be misplaced across the screen where—

_CRACK!_

A blue, almost like a lightning bolt, spark erupted from the Omni-Tool, flinging Paxton and out of his chair. He slammed against the floor, twisting on the ground until he slammed against a wall. His breathes heavy, vision blurred, and a burnt smell spread across the room, its scent was like plastic on fire.

Pulling his upper body up, he had his hands firmly planted into the floor and parts of his hair swung over his face. A blip in his foggy vision showed the red from his Omni-Tool draining down into a cool orange. Shaking his head, his vision came back to him and it allowed Paxton to see the toppled chair in front of him.

After releasing a few coughs from his chest, Paxton crawled up against wall, burying his hands into face. He let his breathes calm him down, allowing his lungs and heart to relax. Dragging his hands away from his face, Paxton stood up, almost stumbling as he did.

He threw his bag next to the bed, put the chair back towards the desk, and opened the window and let the burning smell exit out into the sky. Sliding out from the door of his room, Paxton walked with silent steps as he found his way into the bathroom. Standing over the sink, a mirror hung on the wall, showing Paxton’s reflection.

Keeping his head down to the sink, Paxton splashed cold water over his face. It shivered and jolted his body, bringing some more energy to his fatigued body. The water drained down from his eyes, leaving them red and puffy. His hands were planted on either side of the sink, he let the water drip from his face on its own accord.

Paxton head tilted upwards, he looked at the groggily, exhausted mess which was his face. He felt he looked like an awkward mix between child and adulthood, that he hasn’t aged from his teenage years; calling himself a man would be a disservice to men actually looked, and acted, their age. Maybe if he tried, he would look his age—no use, Paxton figured this was a punishment of some sorts.

Under his eyes were several dark circles, slowly taking precedence around his eyes; it looked like he got punched in both of his eyes and the bruising was only now fading away. He applied some cream around his eyes, watching as it made his dark circles fade.

Another groan escaped from his mouth. Paxton slung his hands into his pockets and paced out from the bathroom door, taking subtle footsteps down the hallway.

White light crawled out from under the door to Alex’s room. Soft, low orchestral music emitted from her room as, from what the shadows from the light showed, Alex appeared to be slowly moving across the room. Paxton stood in front of her door, rolling his hands together nervously when he stared at the door. He just _hated_ knocking on doors or entering them, it always disturbed him for a reason he couldn’t explain.

After a moment’s pause, he called out her name. When the music turned off, he heard her call for the door to open. Alex stood in front of a white board, marker in her hand, and had legal documents and textbooks springing up from her terminal. On the board were scribbled legal strategies, obscure Citadel Council laws, and notes she made to herself.

She didn’t turn around when she spoke, “What?”

“Just was wondering if you’re doing okay.”

“I’m fine.” She moved to her computer and scrolled through the pages of a law textbook. It was of the rulings made by the Citadel Council from the past century; she was now analyzing the decisions made by the Council and what laws they to justify their rulings. “I’m busy, Pax.”

“I just wanted to talk.”

“And I just want to do my coursework.” Alex said brusquely, slightly turning her head to her brother.

“Fine.” When Paxton turned to leave, he heard the cap of her marker snap back.

“What?” Alex said and leaned against her board. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“So…” He wasn’t quite sure what to say. Each second he tried to find something to say, she seemed to get more annoyed. “…everything going okay?”

“Yes.”

Paxton threw his hands into his pockets. “Did you talk to her—”

“Briefly. That’s why I have my whiteboard back.”

“Oh…good.”

“Yeah…,” Alex paused, and said out of politeness, “and you?”

“I’m okay.”

She nodded her head and said, “Great.”

There was an uncomfortable silence between them. The siblings stood across from each other, but Paxton could imagine her on another planet spinning away. It was as if there had a barrier between them, blocking the other from crossing a certain threshold of each other’s lives. It looked as if it didn’t bother Alex but Paxton…Paxton _hated_ it.

“Goodnight, Alex.”

“Goodnight, Pax.”

When he walked out the door, he couldn’t help but feel a heaviness in his chest. Paxton looked back at the door and saw it was closed, the orchestral music playing once more He turned to go back to his room until he noticed a quiet noise came out from the living room. He walked to the room and felt wind from the outside.

A door in the living room, leading to a small balcony, was cracked open. The drapes covering the door whipped with the wind. Paxton gently peeled the door open. Melanie stood at the railing, her arms resting on it as she looked off into the bright lights of Proserpina’s sky.

“Paxton,” Melanie said turning her head towards him. She wore a long-sleeved shirt with light, soft pants and her hair was pulled back into a bun. From her thin shirt, it was evident that, even at 52, she still had a stronger layer of muscle on her body. The moonlight rested across the side of her face, gently illuminating her scar and the soft wrinkles in her face. “isn’t beautiful?”

She gestured her hands towards the colony. Towering arcologies sprang around the landscape but the main settlement of the colony, where the colonists had set up areas of entertainment and relaxation. It was a small colony, around 10,000 people, but the growing number of farms and mines drew more colonists in each month. What was striking to Paxton was the few skyscrapers looming in the city, beaming with lights and making the dark world feel less barren than it was.

The center of the main settlement was the marker square. All other parts of the colony stretched out from it. Naturally, it was one of the brightest lights from Proserpina. Paxton could imagine seeing colonists and their families running around, resting together and enjoying their company with their fellow colonists. He imagined see the family from earlier out with themselves again, only this time avoiding the fountain.

Whatever political importance the colony held to Melanie or her turian counterpart, the people on this world ignored their political implications and solely existed with each other.

“It really is.” Paxton muttered; his eyesight fixed onto the colony.

They both stood silently for a moment, both taking in Proserpina’s glory.

“A lot of people don’t like me; they disagree with my politics.” She admitted. “A lot say I’m too friendly to the other species and obey their agendas, like reducing the turian appropriations. A lot say I’m some kind of human imperialist, like securing the colonization rights to Proserpina.” Melanie spoke calmly as she folded her hands behind her back. She appeared comfortable speaking, even somewhat pleased describing her opponents.

“But what do you say, ma’am?”

Melanie laughed quietly, but it trickled down into a sigh. “I say I’m just Melanie Harbor.” She leaned once more on the railing. “It’s worked for me for the past 15 years. Haven’t lost this job yet.

“I still remember being a solider during our war with the turians. So, I’ve seen some bad things during that time, been through a lot of bad experiences during my career. Hell, I’ve wanted to quit this job more times than you could ever imagine. But this,” She gestured towards Proserpina again, it was as if she was showing off a proud possession. “ _this_ is a better future. This is what keeps me going.”

“But do you ever think about how easily it can just…fall apart?” Paxton said grimly, to which Melanie just chuckled.

“I would’ve said the same thing before,” She squeezed Paxton’s shoulder and looked up at him closely, studying his features. “If I could tell myself one thing is that there’s…there’s hope for a better future. It just takes a of believing and work.”

“I hope, too.” Paxton weakly grinned with his mother.

Her grin faded quietly as her features softened into her face. Melanie let go of his shoulder and placed her hands with Paxton’s.

“I won’t lie, there’s some bad actors out in this galaxy and I know that hope is a strange feeling to have when they’re out there.” Melanie crossed her arms. “Some are willing to take whatever they want, whoever they want, whenever they want. The Milky Way is truly terrifying place but places like Proserpina…” She paused. “It gives me hope that everything we do won’t be in vain.”

“And that we have some kind of purpose?” Paxton asked.

“Exactly.” Melanie said. “And whenever those people want to destroy everything we built; I’ll be there.” She yawned. “I have a speech tomorrow. I really need to get to bed. You should too, Paxton.”

“I will soon.” Paxton watched as his mother walked off the balcony and slid the door close.

Before she closed the door, she whispered; “Goodnight, Paxton.”

“Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Melanie clicked the door close which left Paxton alone on the balcony. He mulled over his mother’s words; they had just seemed so…calming but it stoked slight fear in him. _Whoever these “bad actors” are, I hope they never come to fruition._

He felt a pang of guilt resting inside of him. Perhaps the colony wasn’t as bad as he thought it was. People seemed resolve to live their best lives possible here. At least that proved to be a comforting thought.

Paxton stood outside for a while, forgetting time even existed. When he remembered that that the passage of time was a real thing, he went inside. He entered his room and sat on the edge of his bed. He placed his hands on his face as the moonlight still shined over him, keeping him as the brightened object inside the dim room.

As the wind blew out from the wind, it spread through the waves of his hair, tussling with the night’s breeze. Leaning back on his bed, Paxton closed his eyes and let the wind take his breath, letting himself flow with the wind. He felt like his body was being carried in the wind, like an angel descent from a heaven, flying in the sky with bliss.

Finally, to Paxton, the world remained at a calm pace. No one desperate to leave, no cold sister, no politically obsessed mother, and no more electric shocks springing from Omni-Tools. Only the comfort of a soft bed—

Glowing in the dark room, the screen of Paxton’s tablet flared with another notification. Paxton dragged himself out of the bed as the screen only increased with the outpour of notifications. Kneeling, Paxton looked at the messages, the messages repeated the same greeting.

**[USER BLOCKED]: Hello.**

_Just one moment to myself. All I want._ Paxton ignored the message and opened his Omni-Tool. He synced the data between the tablet and his Omni-Tool, then he started to decrypt the sender’s address. Normally, it would’ve been simple for Paxton to figure out who started messaging him anonymously. Using other’s information always worked with scammers from the extranet and cheaters from online games who wanted his bank account numbers. Those kinds of people always forgot what they demanded when they received a message with their coordinates.

But this guy…this guy this was a challenge.

This was encryption Paxton had never seen before. Top-notch, military grade level of protection. This wasn’t going to be easy but quite possibly entertaining Paxton furrowed his brows, rubbed his chin, and ignored his syllabus; it had always wasted his time. After a brief moment scanning the document, he proceeded to fire away at screen. Each time he made a stride in figuring out the sender, the sender appeared to fine-tune their firewalls in real-time.

Whoever it was knew Paxton was searching for them. It only encouraged Paxton to keep on looking.

After several more attempts at cracking the sender’s code, he broke through. Slightly. Across his Omni-Tool was some pieces of information he managed to grab before the sender closed him off.

**USER: V***** H********

**LOCATION: PROSERPINA, SANGFROID CLUSTER, TERMINUS SYSTEMS**

Paxton slammed his hand down onto the bed and watched as his tablet blew up with notifications, again from the same sender, who now referred to itself as VH. Scrolling through the messages they sent, Paxton’s face distorted into a grimace as more kept being sent to him. Every second, a message from VH popped onto the screen, only increasing with aggression.

 **VH: Answer** **_._ **

**Answer the fucking messages.**

**Not answering me is hilarious, truthfully.**

**You don’t have all day.**

**You won’t have all day.**

**Here’s some free advice: You should** **_really_ ** **head your mother’s warnings.**

**You aren’t alone.**

Throwing the tablet across the room, Paxton jumped back towards the edge of the bed. He held tightly on the sheets, making them collapse over his shaking body. Holding the sheets close to him, his chest pounded with an ever-increasing heartbeat.

The buzzing of the notifications from the tablet ceased but the fear inside of Paxton’s body exploded into his dilated eyes. Crippled with distress, his body froze, his eyes were kept in a terrified frenzy, staring at the tablet across the room

***

Rocking slowly back and forth in the plastic chair, Paxton kept tapping his foot against the pavement and continually twisting then untwisting his fingers together. The puffiness of his now red, dry eyes was being bombarded with the shining rays of the afternoon sun above. The sun had no clouds to block its rays, so it honed down on the people below.

The Market Square bloomed with people buzzing around. They were either laughing, finding a place in the small sea of chairs, or discussing what they thought of the Secretary-General and debating her policies. No matter what, Proserpina’s colonists took their seats in front of the platform. Across the Market Square, reporters talked to their camera drones or were spending their time interviewing the colonists.

On the empty stage was a lectern and several empty seats. Security guards stood at the edges of the stage on the ground and patrolled the Market Square.

Next to Paxton was an empty chair that was reserved for Alex. But she was busy talking one-on-one with the Proserpina politicians, laughing along to their jokes and getting into serious conversation where she would nod her head frequently and reply with long, wordy answers. Some even grouped around her, listening to her speak about political matters that went over his head. Alex wore the same crimson jumpsuit and belt, only now accompanied with sunglasses. She gracefully moved from official to official, making herself known with each of them. Even at 21, Alex appeared to be a veteran politician; cool, calm, and _unbelievably_ charming.

Through the commotion of the Market Square, Paxton’s body still shook from the night before. His heart still thumped with beats that fired off in rapid succession, only a bit slower than the night before. His stomach twisted and churned; it felt as if people were playing tug of war with his small intestine.

When he opened his bag, and turned on his tablet, it was still on the messages from VH. There were no responses, no more messages, and no attempt at anymore communication with Paxton. His fingers shook when he slid up and re-read the messages again.

He took out his stylus and began to frantically write in the journal on his tablet

_July 10, 2180_

_I would say this is joke but I know my friends wouldn’t be this cruel towards me, not even Arcadius would be this sadistic. Someone named VH ~~seems to be~~ is stalking me. They know about our conversation last night. Oh god, oh my fucking god. I should’ve just bought myself a ticket with that girl. That’s beside the point, I didn’t even sleep last night or eat this morning, my stomach hurt from being too terrified throughout the night._

_What if VH hurts me? What if they mug me or steal something from me? It’s already too late. I’m scared, truly. Six days into being 21 and this happens to me, this year is going to be terrible. Something just doesn’t feel right—I can sense it. I can only hope the speech goes well today._

_Hope is the key word._

Alex sat in her seat and skimmed through her tablet, reading and replying to emails she received.

From the chair behind the two Harbors, a young man, around their age, slumped his arms on their chairs. Paxton flinched back while Alex remained undisturbed, her gaze still fixated onto her tablet. He looked at her and mumbled under his breath, it was if he was practicing lines for a show. He turned his face to her with a smile half-cracked.

“Hey, you in the red,” He shifted his attention to Alex, leaning against her chair and scanning her body with his eyes. “they say there’s a lot of fish in the sea. Care if I reel you in?”

“No,” Responded Alex, her voice flat and emotionless. She kept her body forwards and didn’t turn in his direction. “not interested. And for the love of god, please find a better pickup line because I want to throw up. They sell children’s books better versed than you.”

The man stood up, his mouth pursed, he stomped off from the chairs and kicked his feet into the ground. That was until a group a similar young woman walked by, for he then started to chat them up. Alex chuckled at the group of young women who collectively threw their drinks at him. She then turned off her tablet and handed it to Paxton, where he stored it inside his bag.

“Pathetic, really.” Alex folded her hands over her lap. “Though I bet that he’s going to try and try again until he finds a brain-dead girl who doesn’t know the difference between attractiveness and awfulness.” She said to no one in particular, keeping her gaze fixated on the chairs in front of her. “And I’m talking to myself, great. Christ, I’m crazy.”

In the corner of her eye, she saw a jittering brother who looked increasingly fearful with every passing second, it was as if he was on a scaled down version of a hallucinogen with the paranoia still in play. His consistent foot tapping, the fiddle with his fingers, and the constant glances over his shoulders made her release an exasperated groan from her mouth.

“Are you okay?” Alex whispered in Paxton’s ear. “Can you not make a scene? Or at the very least, not draw attention? Please try to act normal. Do it for her.” Alex folded her leg over her other, looking forward at the stage. “Whatever you’re freaking out about probably isn’t as important as you think it is.

“Just—” Alex sighed. Her tone shifted to a somber pitch. “Just relax, okay? Please?”

Paxton nodded. “Okay.”

The two stood up, along with the other spectators, as the group of Proserpina’s politicians, heads of each of the colonies’ departments, and Melanie started to walk up to the platform. When group of politicians assembled in a line on the stage, they waved out towards the crowd of adulating colonists and posed together for pictures and videos for the news media.

Paxton’s smile didn’t touch his eyes, his teeth shook with heavy presses to keep his mouth pointed upwards. Every clap he did was a like a drumstick hitting against a drum with a gaping hole in it; empty and desperate. On the outside, any hint of panic and fear was dissolved, now turned into an over joyful young man, eager to hear his mother’s speech.

They saw Melanie spot them in the crowd, she gave a slight wave with her hand towards them and her children returned it with a small wave. When she turned her wave to the entire, large and densely packed crowd of people. She wore her blue suit and pearl necklace again. On her jacket was now a small pin of Earth, a circle of blue oceans and green continents solidified on a metal pin.

Melanie stood beside the lectern as a man stood in front of the microphone, he used his hands to bring down the applause of the crowd and seat the audience.

When the man began talking, he introduced himself as the Director of Proserpina, responsible for the inner and outer workings of the colony. He praised the colony and the underlings in the chairs below him and celebrated his administration’s direction of the colony. After, to Paxton, unsettling amount of time, congratulating his staff and briefly the actual colonists, he introduced Melanie.

“…with great pleasure,” He said, tilting his head towards Melanie. “I introduce our Secretary-General, serving all of us on the Citadel for the past decade and a half, Melanie Harbor! Madam Secretary-General, you have the audience.” He shifted himself away from the lectern and allowed Melanie to stand behind it.

Behind the lectern, Melanie waited for the crowd to end their applause. She brought down her hands several times to cool down the jubilance of the eager colonists. She ended up giving affirmative nods, repeatedly telling them thank you, and giving a smile. After, to Paxton, what seemed to be an awkward minute of her standing, they crowd died down and let her speak.

Melanie cleared her throat, placed her hands on either side of the lectern, and smiled.

“Now if people on the Citadel were only that cheery, I would have less gray in my hair. _A lot_ less grays” Laughed Melanie, as did with crowd. “However, my main goal here today isn’t self-gratification it’s about the success of Proserpina, one year in the making. With the colonists like you, working day and night in the fields, in your shops, and developing an entirely new culture by this luscious and mesmerizing world—humanity enjoys a fresh, beautiful beginning in our final frontier.

“Whatever problems existed for all of you on the worlds you came from, ceases here. Proserpina is our new beginning. It’s our new hope. It doesn’t matter what life you left behind to work on this colony, you are here today, standing tall and proud and serving with your brothers and sisters back on Earth, back on Terra Nova, back on Eden Prime, and back on _Shanxi_!

“It is you, _Proserpina_ , that makes humanity proud! It is you, all of you, that continues to be emblems of our resilience, our strength, and our, especially, our heart!

“We’re one year in on Proserpina, but there’s a hundred more to go!”

Adoration from the crowd came with the sound of hitting each palm against another. Over the crowd’s applause, Paxton looked around the Market Square. Beyond the stage and through the sea of chairs, he saw a skyline of self-built small businesses, the swirling tramways that led to the acrologies, and the forest-like environment that was Proserpina. Peaceful and quaint this colony was.

Melanie and Paxton made eye contact for a moment. He felt her strength and confidence flow within him, her powerful energy easing his problems.

Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be—

_BOOM!_

Everyone snapped their heads to an explosion from the businesses. A powerful noise that was covered up by ash rising in the sky and dust swarming around the streets. The boom ringed in everyone’s ears as they all collectively winced and looked around towards each other, all looking at everyone’s feared filled face. There was a tremor that pulsated the ground, shaking all of them. Some yelped and jumped from their seats.

“What the actual…” Alex whispered under her breath. She took off her sunglasses and looked around, her face met with Paxton’s, who also was in disbelief and shock.

“Nobody, panic. There, there must’ve an accident at a mining facility, there’s nothing to worry about.” Melanie tried to soothe the increasingly panicky crowd. She looked around the stage, all of Proserpina’s officials faces became pale. “Remain calm, we’re going to resolve this shortly.”

With everyone twisting and turning their heads, with the security guards hearing distress signals and running off to the explosion, no one besides Paxton looked directly at the stage. He saw a wavering red dot swirl on the stage floor, finding its way around the stage.

Almost like a game, the dot swirled around Melanie multiple times. Paxton almost fell out of his seat when he whipped his head around and discovered the red dot was a beam, a beam from a forest way behind the Market Square. When squinted, and with a great deal of effort, Paxton could vaguely see someone kneeling and holding down a rifle.

Paxton snapped his head back to Melanie and reached out to her. For a split second, their worlds stood still. They shared another exchange as her face clenched in anticipation of a—

_BANG!_

A loud screech came out of both Melanie and Paxton’s mouth as she was flung backwards. She rolled on the stage and her body knocked into chairs before slamming into the stage’s wall. Red liquid soaked her blue jacket, it came out from her side and pooled around her.

The people from the chairs toppled over each other, each one of them screaming and shouting, pushing everyone out of the way. They were like animals, fighting and brawling for a way out of the chairs, each taking precedence over the other while wanting a way to flee this battle. Everyone held their hands over their heads, bracing themselves from a—

_BANG!_

Alex yanked Paxton’s wrist to the ground and hid under the mountain of chairs. Their heartbeats exploding with heavy, fast thuds.

“LISTEN!” Alex yelled, pulling Paxton by the strap of his bag. She put her mouth to his ear and spoke with a harsh, unforgiving tone. “We either die here or--“

_BANG!_

“ALEX!” Paxton cried out, gripping her arms.

“Look, we go—”

_BANG!_

The jaw of a security officer was ripped apart from the shot. He collapsed to the ground, his blood pooling out from his mouth.

Alex put her hands on either side of her brother’s head, looking at him in eyes. She spoke fast and said, “W-We go the stage and grab her. Trust me, we can do it. And when we do, we get the fuck out of here!” Paxton nodded furiously with her. She yanked him and herself up and they started to run through the chairs together, hand in hand, racing against another bullet.

The two hid behind more chairs, stopping to catch their breath and look at their surroundings. Screams still soared into the air, the people were scattering about and trying to run away from the violent scene. The two Harbors were nearing the stage and they saw it was empty, all besides Melanie and her blood.

_BANG!_

The indentation of a round landed near their feet, making the siblings fly from behind the chairs. They both shrieked as they fell onto the ground, not before they pulled themselves upward. The two pumped their legs across the ground, each pump of their legs was like a leap that made them fly across the ground. Up the stage, Paxton and Alex grabbed Melanie by her jacket and--

_BANG!_

A round slammed next to Paxton’s head, barely missing him. He screamed again and ducked as himself and his sister pulled Melanie off the stage and placed themselves behind the stage’s wall, away from the shooter.

Paxton and Alex put Melanie on her back, she winced when she touched the ground and pressed her hand into crimson wound on her side. Melanie’s red blood splattered against her white shirt and blue jacket, with her pants getting the same treatment. She groaned and kept her eyes shut. Her face came down with sweat, it trickled down her face.

“What...what the hell just happened?” Melanie wheezed out, gasping for breath between each word. With a blurred vison, she tried to see around the destructive and deadly environment. She felt a squeeze on her hand coming from Paxton. She pulled him closer and leaned into his ear, whispering. “You. Medi-Gel. Now.”

Paxton frantically nodded and opened his Omni-Tool. Pulling up her jacket and shirt, he felt a lightness in his stomach when he saw the gunshot wound on her side, blood coming out from a small, yet painful, graze. Hovering his Omni-Tool over her, it dispensed a transparent ointment which Paxton, with a head turned, rubbed over her wound.

The Medi-Gel sealed tight her wound, the gel holding tight over her skin and providing Melanie a, at that moment, euphoric high that ceased all her pain. She slumped forwards and pulled her clothes back down, giving a nod to Paxton in process.

“Someone, someone just shot you!” Alex growled; her fury tightened into her fist. “We need to get out of here!”

“Whoever it was, they shot at a diplomat and killed many; they will never see the light of day again. Should’ve known this was coming. _Fuck_.” Melanie struggled to stand, but feeling the adrenaline rise in her body, she stood up. She scanned her eyes around the ugly sight of Proserpina. Quickly, she formulated a plan.

She pulled a pistol that was holstered at her side. With the gesture of her hand, she brought her children to their feet. “We run, faster than what than what you’ve ever ran before and faster than what you will run in the future. I stay in front and you both follow my lead. We head to the tram station and it’ll take us to the spaceport, and we’ll get out there. No questions, comments, concerns—you do _exactly_ as I say.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Paxton and Alex frantically said together. On their faces was a mix of sweat, exasperation, and fear. Their eyes both were dilated, they looked like a deer were forever trapped in the headlights.

Taking lead, Melanie ran with her children, and raced away from the stage. They heard shots still being fired from the unknown sniper, and with those shots, screams were put a halt as people’s lives splattered onto the ground.

A chorus of screams, sirens, and shots rang in the background, engulfing Proserpina with an awful amount of air pollution. Ash from the exploded building flowed through the sky, finding its way into the clouds. The once pristine, blue, sunny sky was turning into a black, smoggy mess of death. 

_BOOM!_

Another building was blown to shreds, every piece of the building was scattered across the ground. The building was no longer its namesake, it was just a pile of rubble and debris. When people tried running down the street, opposite of the bombed pile of ash, a gun released rounds into them, spurting their blood everywhere.

Paxton teared up seeing the fountain, once stood in proud glory, filled with debris and dripping with blood, turning the water a deep red.

Some people grabbed their guns or took their family and hobbled into a closed off building, and others hid away inside a closet to pray. All they knew was their world—their lives—was shattering, and they could do nothing about it.

The Harbors frantically ran throughout the streets as shots rang out from multiple distances, gunfire surrounding the entirety of Proserpina. Overhead, they saw a ship flying into the sky, it was a large merchant ship, but it wasn’t deterring its course and flying out away from Proserpina, it was _accelerating_ it.

Hiding in a forested area, they saw the ship land in the center of the Market Square, it touched down and the cargo bay of the ship opened.

Out came heavily armed, purple and black armored soldiers who’s faces was hidden behind a helmet. They shot at any living person who was still squirming for life in the chairs, popping a round into their head. From their armor, they didn’t appear to be human, if anything, they weren’t lacking in diversity—besides the lack of any humans. And there were _a lot_ of them.

Melanie gasped; her skin turned pale when she looked at the assortment of the soldiers. She stared at their every move, from the way they held their guns, walked, communicated, and the scheme of dark colors on their armor.

Her face shot back with an angered, furious fire when she saw a much taller turian run up to the group, carrying a sniper rifle in his hand. He pointed in multiple directions; each time two soldiers ran to where he pointed. The turian was large and wore heavy armor, and he carried enough weapons to put down whatever he saw fit. What was left in the group was him, another turian, and a shorter, to Melanie’s educated guess, asari. Pointing his head towards the area where the Harbors were located, they tightened the grip around their guns and started running towards the forested area.

The Harbors darted from their hiding place and flew through the tree branches, hopped over logs, crunched twigs under their shoes, and frantically followed a non-linear path.

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Gunshots roared out from the barrels of the guns of the three who were chasing after the Harbors. The rounds spliced through leaves, hit against the ground, and fired through the trees. In the distance they saw a flashing, flaring red lights and the shouts of sirens from the tram station.

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Melanie dug her foot into the ground, threw her children behind her, and opened her Omni-Tool. A bolt of electricity spun out from her device and it targeted the three slavers. All of the raiding soldiers were thrown backwards several yards, their bodies tumbling down a hill. With heavy, labored breathes Melanie stood watching the forest, darting her head to an area every time she heard a noise. Satisfied, Melanie directed her children to stand with a gesture and returned back to running to the tram station.

The Harbors hobbled out to the desolate street. They caught their breath, finding a way to fill their depleted lungs without the smog and ash from the explosions. Looking around, the street was raining down with debris from the blasted building and was devoid of any life. As they walked, the glass from windows cracked under their feet, pieces of the building flew into their hair, and only gunshots from a distance spilled into the air.

A public extranet terminal stood on the side of building and, although the screen was flickering, it was, if barely, operational. Melanie stood in front of the terminal and tried to make repairs with her Omni-Tool.

“Damn it,” She muttered, turning her attention to Paxton. “Make it work. _Now._ ”

“Y-Yes, Ma’am.” Was all Paxton could say in his frightened state.

Alex and Melanie watched as Paxton opened his Omni-Tool, scanned the terminal, and, in just a few moments, found the area that was malfunctioning. He tore off a panel on the backside of the terminal, quickly rearranged the wiring, and used his Omni-Tool to solder the new connections he made and repair other malfunctioning.

The screen appeared in a crisp, clear state free from static.

Melanie furiously typed away at the keyboard, but each time she tried to make a call, the terminal shut itself. After only a second time, she ordered her son to maintain a connection.

“I-I don’t know if I—”

Melanie glared at him. “ _Do it._ ”

When Melanie started to make call to the Alliance, Paxton had his Omni-Tool opened and frantically typed out lines of code as he established a connection with the terminal. The connection was growing weak, but, unlike before, it was still operational. Melanie’s call barely went through, but the screen was distorted and was only able to produce static images and sounds.

“This is Secretary-General of the Human Embassy Melanie Harbor, do you copy? Proserpina is under attack!” Melanie shouted at the screen. “I repeat Proserpina is under attack! The colony needs emergency evac! We are under—”

_BANG!_

The terminal was exploded into small pieces in front of them. As fast as the terminal was destroyed, Melanie grabbed her pistol and spun around while her unarmed children hid behind the torn down terminal. Melanie saw several soldiers, different from the ones she disabled earlier, about to gun her down.

Tapping at her Omni-Tool she fired a burst of electricity at her opponents and their guns and Omni-Tools steamed, sparked, and burned their fingertips. The soldiers threw down their rifles and unclipped their burning Omni-Tools. Unable to fire their kill their target, the largest of the soldiers, a krogan, started charging towards her. The other soldiers, a salarian and a batarian, followed with him.

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

The krogan, his face now torn apart by gunshot wounds, still hobbled towards Melanie.

_BANG!_

One last blow to the brain dropped the krogan to the ground, his blood pooling from his head. His comrades, both visibly shaken at his defeat, slowed down as they saw the krogan die.

_BANG! BANG!_

All the soldiers now fell to the ground with blood draining out from holes in their heads.

“Those,” Alex stammered, walking towards her. “Those were perfect headshots, how did you even—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Melanie curtly said. “We’re getting out of this colony. Even if we have to go at it alone” She pointed forwards with her pistol. “Move out.”

Melanie led her children down the broken-down street that was littered with debris from buildings about to topple over, parts of cars that had exploded, and bodies of fallen security forces. Somehow through the chaos, Melanie kept herself calm as she moved through the fallen colony that she had created.

Paxton’s eyes were wild. Frantically, he kept looking around him and was jumped at every noise he heard. His teeth chattered, making fast, sharp jabs against each other. Heavy, labored breathing came out from his mouth as he felt his body slowly crumble from fear. Smothered across his face was black ash, only his tears cleaned his face.

Alex snatched Paxton’s wrist and paced down the street, following Melanie’s lead. She too was bathed in dirt and dust; her long hair was drained with sweat and ash, and it was spread across her face. Her face was fixed in a permeant sneer, hisses came out from the corner of her clenched mouth.

“Oh god, oh god, _oh my god_.” Paxton mumbled, his voice full of anxiety and fear. His head still whipped around the street, looking for anything and anyone who could destroy them. “We’re not going to…d-die, right?”

“If we were going to die,” Melanie said calmly, she didn’t raise or lower her voice, hers was still leveled out. It was as if she didn’t get shot and Proserpina wasn’t falling apart. Her fingers were still knitted around her pistol, she didn’t look behind at Paxton but focused her attention on the tram station, which still a distance down the street. “we wouldn’t be able to discuss the fact that we’re still alive.”

From the corner of his eye, in the distance he saw people holding their ground against the purple and black armored soldiers. They fired at them with their guns, but it was futile. Several colonists who were fighting back were shot in their knees, as was the unarmed colonists they were defending. The soldiers came out to them but didn’t fire their guns. They dragged the screaming colonists by their collars, gaged them, cuffed their wrists, and hauled them off to a pile of others who met the same unfortunate fate.

The soldiers started tagging the colonists and wrapping collars around their necks.

“Oh god! Oh god!” Paxton gasped. “THEY’RE SLAVERS!” He pulled on Alex’s arm and looked at her in her rough face.

“Jesus Christ, Paxton! Can’t you _ever_ stay fucking calm!” Alex shouted, causing Paxton to flinch. “They’re going to catch us if you—"

“B-BUT THEY’RE GONNA—”

“WHAT!”

Whipping back, Melanie pressed her faces into theirs and pulled back a deep frown across her face.

“If you both don’t stay quiet, we will _ALL_ die,” Melanie hissed at them. She folded Alex’s and Paxton’s hands together, keeping the two’s fingers intertwined. “Paxton keep your fear to yourself. I do not need to handle paranoia right here, right now. Alexandria, if someone has a problem, you help fix it, you help calm them down. That’s what being a public servant—and more importantly—a decent person is.” She shook her head and walked forwards. “If you both don’t keep quiet, I will be the one who shoots you dead.”

Stomping forwards, the Harbors kept themselves pacing down the street. Paxton turned his head and saw the bombed building and immediately knew of what it was—the café. He kept the tears in his eyes glued to his eyelids, his trembling lip was bitten with force, and every gasp became a cold shudder down his spine.

Reaching the end of the street, the tram station’s steps were not too far from where the Harbors were. Together, they walked in unison to the tram station and— 

_BOOM!_

The Harbors jumped back as they saw the tram station explode into the sky, firing off pieces of the once beautiful sight into a mix of blackness, fire, and death. The station burned and collapsed upon itself with fallen pieces of its own architecture falling on top of each other. Smoke rose from the burning station, dimming the sky above them, darkening the world.

Ash and debris became an avalanche, it poured out from the station and was becoming a pressing wall the was flowing the air at a face pace, taking everything its path and consuming Proserpina. Melanie grabbed them and they ran into an alleyway, across the street of the forgotten café.

Huddled together, they watched as the ash fly past the entrance of the alleyway. Some flowed into the alley, but nothing much to harm the Harbors. The debris cloud sounded like a stampede of people, but it was only the ashes of the fallen that was stuck within the wind.

After a minute of the wind, they heard footsteps slamming against the ground and rushing towards the alley. Melanie cocked her pistol and yanked her children behind her, having them be shrouded in her shadow. Her foot grinded into the ground, her face fixed into an emotionless stare, and her pistol was locked in her hand. Along her arm, her Omni-Tool glowed with its orange light, and waved around them was a blue, electrical, bubble-like shield.

Paxton watched as a different set of slavers stepped foot in the alley. They didn’t fire on sight, they kept their guns pointed forwards at her, and she returned the favor. No one moved, their breaths were only thing Paxton could hear, and they kept staring in the other’s face. Until they shot a round at her, yet it deflected off the blue shield, the round dissolving in it. More shots fired, yet she still stood with her arm extended and her body still.

With a steely stare, Melanie’s eyes were fixated on the slavers.

Looking up, Paxton saw the shield start to flicker and dissolve; hissing and slowly dissolving as the rapid fire from the slavers stung the shield. There was no escaping. Soon enough, Paxton knew, the walls would be splattered with their blood.

An adrenaline high slowed the world around him, it was as if was existing somewhere time ceased to move at its normal pace. The unrelenting spray of bullets kept sinking into the shield as the large group of slavers only _increased_ their damage. Some of their faces were determined and generally unphased of their shooting, but other slavers’ faces contorted into an angry, fiery scream.

Alexandria Harbor could only watch in terror. Though her expression was only of her mouth dropping in greater volumes and her eyelids stretching further and further back, Paxton knew she was feeling more than just shock or apprehension—it was terror; she knew she was going to die.

Melanie Harbor stood with an unyielding, remorseless expression. There was no fear, no sadness— _nothing_. She gave the slavers nothing. It didn’t matter if the shield was vanishing, she still stood with her children huddled behind her. Her fingers tightened around the grip of her gun. When she raised her other arm, Melanie squeezed her hand as an electrical charge grew out from her Omni-Tool.

It was only a brief moment of time, but he could see it all.

During this haze, Paxton Harbor could feel nothing besides a primitive instinct to survive. Paxton followed his mother’s behavior and let an electrical charge build until it started frantically sparking. His charge was more erratic, uncontrolled but more… _powerful_ than Melanie’s. It started snapping at his skin, causing small, spotted burn marks on his hand and arm. But he still kept going.

Still in his adrenaline rush, Paxton saw the shielding flickering and fading more intensively than before. He knew it would be moments before they were dead. Paxton leapt forward and raced to his mother, raising his Omni-Tool towards her own.

Her calm demeanor broke when she lashed her head back to his. For the first time in his life he witnessed an emotion that had never come across her face; fear. She whispered only word: “ _Paxton_ …”

Unfocused, their fingers slid off their Omni-Tools and combined with each other’s.

_CRACK! HISS!_

An electrical shockwave raced down the alley, causing the sky around them glow with flashing, sparking blue lights. The slavers were shocked with the current, it damaged their armor and found its way under their skin. They shrieked and plummeted to the ground, blood pooling out from their helmets.

The Harbors were slammed against the alley’s back wall, their bodies flown backwards like ragdolls. They lay on the ground unmoving, their eyelids folded over and hands resting against the ground. Cuts formed along their bodies and drops of red blood painted against the ground like an abstract painting.

Paxton cracked opened his blurred vision, again, and saw Alex and Melanie beside him. They were both unawake and unmoving, though their chests raised with breathes. Paxton felt a heaviness over him, his exhaustion pulled him down and tied him to the ground. There was a ringing in his ears, it was like windchimes without the beauty of their sound flowing in the air. He heard echoes from a distance, the sound of slow footsteps coming close to them.

As the sound of the steps filled his mind, he tried to push himself upright. His arms wobbled, shaking as he tried to remain upwards. Looking at the pistol besides Melanie, he tried to reach out and take it. When he pressed a knee forwards, it ached and sent pain up his leg and through his body. Wincing, his arm burnt with the pain.

A foot slammed Paxton’s back into the ground, pressing down into him and leaving him unable to move. Trying to move was useless, between his own exhaustion and the heavy weight of whomever was on him, Paxton couldn’t move even if he wanted to. The shadow from the turian slaver was darkened like a silhouette, he stood far above Paxton, inching way over seven feet. A sniper rifle was holstered on his back—the leader, Melanie’s shooter.

Paxton whimpered when his eyes met with the helmet of the slaver, he curled his hands together and cried to himself. His breathe was frantic again and the urge to escape grew inside his body. The slaver’s foot was taken off Paxton’s back, then he crouched down to Paxton and stared at him through his helmet.

Clicking his helmet off, he threw it to the side and pressed his face down to Paxton. It was blank, devoid of any emotion as he stared into the increasingly panicked human’s face. His face was darkened and only the glow of his purple eyes shown, along with a scar that stretched down the side of the turian’s face.

The slaver took out a long, serrated knife and ticked it with his finger. Slowly, he tapped the edge of the knife and twirled it between his finger. Suddenly, he clamped it down next to Paxton’s face. The human merely whimpered in response, frantically eyeing himself in the blade’s reflection. When the slaver positioned the knife sideways, he caught a better glimpse at his scarred face. He slipped the knife into Paxton’s boot.

He then took Melanie’s pistol and held in his hand, twisting it slowly and staring at every detail of it, making sure it was exact. He chuckled under his breath as he pointed to the pistol to the ground. The slaver dragged a finger down Melanie’s face, studying her features with a cold, unflinching look. For a moment he just looked at her… _staring_.

“I say that’s a good trade.” The slaver said, turning back to Paxton and looking at the pistol in his hand. His voice was gruff, but he sounded exact; he was clear with his words and his voice rang with a powerful, dictatorial confidence. He patted Paxton’s shoulder, jolting the human’s frail body. “Now, I wish that we could talk all day and catch up, kid, but I’ve got places to be. Don’t take this as me saying goodbye; we’ll meet again soon.”

The slaver stood back up and he started to slowly pace down the alley, where the asari and the other turian stood waiting. He turned half his body towards the beat-down human. Staring into him, looking beyond Paxton’s eyes. But he wasn’t searching for anything with his gaze, no, he already took what he wanted.

“I will say this,” His voice terrified Paxton; it sent a cold flash across his body, making his heart pump when he looked at the slaver in the distance. “It’s been nice seeing you again, _Paxton Harbor_.” 


	2. Sulk in Our Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the slaver attack on Proserpina, Paxton Harbor wakes up from a coma a week later. Back home on the Citadel, he finds himself confronting people from his past and reuninting with his friends. As he tries to reintegrate himself back to his old life, something feels...off. 
> 
> As dramatic as the ordeal was, Paxton cannot remember Proserpina's attack and the events that transpired. He knows he has his memories and that he has to immerse himself back into Proserpina. Paxton has to remember, not just for himself, but for his safety, his family, and the colony itself.
> 
> But he isn't the only one thinking about Proserpina...

Feeling in sync with the body, shivers along the arms that raise the hair. In sync with the mind, a focus on everything but nothing at the same time. In sync with the soul, the heart uplifted in a beautiful, freeing place where nothing stops its rhythmic beating. Only the warmth of the world surrounding while the coldness fleeting behind, never able to catch up.

Clarity.

Complete control of the uncontrollable, having dexterity over the psyche. Nothing pining down the consciousness. The overwhelming feeling of nothingness fleeting through the fingertips, but in that nothingness was a serene peace where one could see everything. In that clarity, the past and future combined into the absolutely nothing. It was a confusing, paradoxical feeling in which feeling nothing brought a harmony.

The sky was washed over with a warm blue, no cloud was in sight, making the sunlight shine onto the ground. Light winds flowed in the air. Across a lush, green hill was a rocky pathway surrounded by tall trees, where each branch waved to the gentle speed and direction of the wind. Nothing broke the serenity of the world.

Paxton opened his eyes. Sitting upwards, a slight smile brought up his face. When he took a step forward on the rocks, he felt the absolute nothingness—clarity. And that nothingness, that _clarity,_ was, perhaps, the most peaceful feeling he ever felt.

He couldn’t find words that could capture the tranquility he felt. Nothing beyond a lustful movement of his lips where only one word could escape: freedom. The world had wrapped around Paxton’s essence, his soul, his mind—it became one with him.

With the feeling of peace and unity, he also a felt a strong familiar sense of where he was yet it also felt different at the same time, as if some sort of amnesia had taken control over him. The pathway, leaves, trees—all was at the tip of Paxton’s tongue, but it was tasteless. Another word appeared in his mind: nostalgia.

The leaves on the tree, the cracks trickling along them and how the slices spliced the leaves into little pieces of dust. The way the bark on the tree peeled, it’s individual and unique markings, the green moss over at the bottom of the tree where the roots flung from underneath the ground; the smell of grass freshly cut and giving a smell that rose through Paxton’s body and the unevenness of the rocks in the pathway—all familiar.

This wasn’t nostalgia, Paxton knew this was something beyond the memory of what has been—something deeper. His pace picked up, speed walking his way down the pathway as he shifted his head every direction to confirm what he already knew—this wasn’t a recollection of his past, nor a generalization of a time before, or even a nostalgic look back on his memories—this was his life

And he was living it all over again.

When he followed the path, the wind started to pull him back. It was like a gentle push, nothing impassable but uncomfortable. Though with every step he saw the sky shift down from a bright blue to dimmer and paler blue, ultimately it faded away and was replaced by clouds. The ease in his body started to leave him, the heaviness came back to Paxton and it made every movement more restrictive than the last.

There he stood, now in front of a small bridge over a stream. There was now a wind coming towards him. The wind pulled back Paxton’s hair, tussled his bandanna, and ripped the air out from his body. There was an urge in him to leave, turn back, and forget everything—but his body pressed forward.

All the control was gone; he was Paxton Harbor again.

When he stepped on the bridge, he realized that it became a struggle against nature. Every step was a slam on the wooden planks, his boot grinding into the wood yet finding a way to keep moving on. Everything was so sudden; his oxygen was flying out from his lungs and only quick, labored gasps and yelps kept him relatively stable.

This wind was becoming a cold storm.

Paxton held his head. He still tried to move forward, but every step was becoming harder than the rest. All the energy in his frail body had been exerted. When he slammed into the floor of the bridge, he dug his nails into the wooden boards and tried to pull himself forward. He pushed his boots between the boards and tried to launch himself forwards.

After every push, a board was ripped from nails and was sucked into the wind. Paxton held his breath, closed his eyes, and pressed his body down lower. He went faster. Every time he moved another board flew into the air, but Paxton only went faster. Cuts formed along his finger, his hair became a dirty, frizzy mess, and he occasionally had to shield his head when a branch came towards him.

The nails in the boards twisted out from where they were hammered in. Under Paxton, the boards wobbled and loosened. Panic twisted in his mind as he felt himself becoming lighter and higher in the air. Frantically, he crawled across the remaining boards and yanked himself forward to edge of the bridge. 

Paxton pulled himself onto the grass and rested on his back. He lay on the ground, clutching his beating heart. The wind disappeared from behind him and the bridge was left alone. Only the broken boards remained, the others floated down a stream below. Breathes quickly came from out his mouth. When he kneeled at the grass, he started coughing and gasping for air.

Snow landed on his hands, melting on his warm skin and creating a miniature puddle. He looked up at the sky and saw that heavy snow was coming down. He now shuddered as the cold air made him wish for the warmth to be brought back. Paxton shakily stood back up, holding his now freezing body together. In any other instance he would’ve been terrified at how fast and sudden the cold stung his skin, but now he just wanted a way out from this surprise winter blast.

Paxton had to find somewhere to go, and, in the recesses of his mind, he knew exactly the place.

He started running at first to beat the snow, but as he got farther the snow got heavier on the ground and on his body. The path he was running on started piling up with snow—and fast. Just like the bridge, he had to outrun the storm. As Paxton ran down the pathway, lights from a house in the distance illuminated the darkened world. But as he got closer, he slowed down. Just as he known how to get to the house, he knew to stay far away.

His muscles tensed, hands and legs shook, and his fingers twisted into a firm fist. There was no control of his thoughts, only indecisive, dark words replaying in his consciousness. Like a whisper, it felt as someone had pressed their mouth against his ear and speaking in a low, gravelly tone that he couldn’t understand. It was as if someone was ordering him, instructing him, guiding him.

Paxton hugged his body. He was hunched over as walked up towards the darkened house. It was as if there was a supernatural, otherworldly force making him go to the house. While his mind screamed at him to stop, his body was moving on a predetermined path.

Warmth radiated from the house, conflicting with the bitter cold snow. Paxton hobbled forward. From what he could make out of the house, there were white panels that were slowly chipping away, and two columns stood across from each other near a door.

The door swung open.

An overpowering white light emitted from the doorway, stinging Paxton’s eyes. In the doorway was a silhouette of a person. It didn’t move, it just stood still. He stood tall and refused to move. Shallow breathes came out his shivering mouth and he saw his breathes in the cold air rise.

The figure moved their hand over their middle, clutching at their stomach. From the small pavement walkway, crimson liquid slid its way down towards Paxton. Blood creating a tiny river that flowed towards him, coming from the figure. A red dot hovered over the figure’s face, illuminating it.

Melanie’s face appeared, emotionless. Her mouth was slightly open, as if she were to say something but chose not to. The cloud of breath exited her red lips, flowing out. Blue eyes staring, locking onto Paxton. His jaw fell from his mouth as he stared back at her, his body quivering as he saw the listless woman leak out blood.

The red dot swirled around her again, moving away from her face and down to her torso. The dot fixated near her hand; it steadied. Paxton started to run towards her, outstretching his hand out to his mother and—

_BANG!_

Melanie flung backwards, her body hurling into the light. The door slammed shut, the lock twisted, and any light under the door vanished. Across Paxton’s face, deep red blood was splattered. He tried to scream for her, but his voice was taken by the freezing storm. Paxton fell forwards into the snow, his hands burning at the frigidity of it. His skin was pale, almost rivaling that of the snow. But that white snow was now painted with Melanie’s blood.

And when Paxton tried to move towards the house, he felt his leg be dragged back by a powerful force. He tried digging his fingers in the snow, attempting to claw his way to the dirt and keep himself stationary. He was then grabbed by his shoulders and forced to stand.

Looming over him, a turian was dressed in heavy black and purple armor held a rifle in his hand. He stood over Paxton, hovering over the frightful being that he was almost two feet taller than. A grit formed in his line of teeth, pressing down into his mandible. The slaver’s purple eyes crept into Paxton’s soul, haunting and taking control over him.

Paxton froze.

No movement, absolutely nothing. Paxton just stared up into the slaver’s face, his doe eyes freezing at the sight of him. He felt paralyzed. Everything in his body told him to run, hide, and get away from him but he couldn’t, for the life of him, move. His mind rushed with panicked thoughts. Every emotion in his body became active. But nothing on his face showed this, he was listless—like Melanie.

Again, he felt that nothingness inside his body, but it wasn’t of clarity, no it was… _emptiness_. A void grew inside Paxton, swallowing his emotions and leaving fear as the dominant force in his body. This slaver, whoever he was, took everything from with ease and all he had to do was stare with his unflinching, unstoppable eyes.

“ _Paxton Harbor._ ” The turian put a hand on the side of Paxton’s face and looked at him as if her were inspecting him. He then fixed a glare, held his rifle in the air, holding it like he was going to swing it. He held the rifle by its barrel, the butt of the gun was above their heads. The face of the turian mixed between ecstasy and a deep hatred. The turian swung down the rifle towards the human’s skull.

***

Jolting upwards, Paxton’s fingers tightened around sheets on the bed. The thumps of his heart raised and lowered his palm. Sweat trickled down his face, he became breathless and tried to suck in more air with every fast breath. His eyes scattered across the room, frantically darting his sight onto everything. When he realized he was in a hospital room, he calmed his breathes, easing the beeps on the heart rate monitor.

Paxton was alone in the room. The soft sound of his calm heart rate, the shuffled footsteps outside the door, and murmured discussions between doctors placated him. He sat back on his bed, looking forward at the wall. Lights from the ceiling evenly spread across his body, not an inch of him was uncovered by light. The brightness made his light skin glow, it made his dark hair shine, and filled his body with warmth.

He turned his head to the nightstand; there was a small bouquet of asters, cards, and a balloon with ‘Get Well!’ printed across it. Paxton slipped an aster through his fingers; the softness of the violet petals rubbed against his skin and created a soothing friction. There was a yellow base in the aster, which, when combined with the pedals, comforted him. A small card was attached to the flowers and Paxton flipped it open from its envelope.

_We remembered how much you loved them when you were a child. We would like to wish you a fast recovery. If you need anything, we will help you and your family out. Don’t be afraid to ask, we’ll always be there for you, no matter the history. You’ll be in our prayers, Paxton. –Valerius and Calista Ataraxia._

In their card was their personal contact information, address and a direct phone number to their workplaces. The sides of Paxton’s mouth slightly ticked upwards in remembrance of a distant past—but not for long. He guided his finger down the card, tracing his nail against the paper and tapping twice against their name. He then sat the card beside himself, reached over to the nightstand, and took the rest of the cards.

Instead of a card, a printed picture of Paxton and three other people was signed with names and wishes. The picture was of him and the other people in their very early-20s like him were seated together at a restaurant booth, all four smiling brightly.

In the picture Paxton was seated next to Alison Rae, who had glowing deep brown skin, amber eyes, and thick, wiry black hair that touched her shoulders. Alison had her arm swung around Paxton’s shoulders. Across from them was Louison Jansen, a young man with tan skin, and had deep brown hair, a scruffy beard, and hazel eyes. He was in the middle of giving a hearty laugh. Next to him was Ida Michiko, a young woman with a bleach blonde bob with bangs, light brown eyes, olive skin, and necklaces around her neck that seemed to not weigh her small frame down.

When he flipped the picture, a small message was written for him. All three signed under words written in Alison Rae’s handwriting that had the same delicate strokes as calligraphy.

_Paxton, we’re so worried about you! Everything is insane, and we just want you to know that we’re going to be there. Don’t worry about anything, okay? Take a break from everything. Just try to relax right now because that’s what you need. Knowing you, you won’t take a break. Just feel better Paxton, we’re thinking about you. –Alison, Ida, and Louison *Mostly Alison* Correction: All Alison, these people are lazy, Paxton._

He crossed his hands over his stomach, laying back on the bed, and closed his eyes once more. A sigh left his mouth. The 21-year-old pondered with the thought of solace in his mind as if it were a tangible thing. If he could only grasp and feel solace between his fingers, yanking the feeling towards his body and not let it go—but Paxton knew fantasies have their limits.

Paxton’s eyes wondered onto the door, where he could faintly see through a thin cloth over a window in the door. He squinted, seeing another door across the hall. There was separation, a disconnect to Paxton, he felt the ambivalence of the two different rooms with himself and another patient in it. A sense of disconnected unity struck him, as if a line was broken between it—he sensed the beatings of the heart. Whoever it was, they were in the same hospital in the same period of time—and it brought him unity that there was someone just like him.

Paxton scrunched his legs up to his chest, putting his hands in his face and through his hair. For some reason, his mind went to a blank. There was not much he could remember. But he could clearly see the explosion of the spaceport on Proserpina…

_Proserpina._

The heart rate monitor started to tick up.

Fear, absolute fear, rang into his chest as he remembered the screaming on Proserpina. The fires erupting and the bombs bursting. Humans being dragged like cattle off in the distance. Complete terror of everything around him. But for some reason, he could not remember anything else. There were pieces of memory still alive in his mind. Even the day prior to the attack was a was a blur, only fragments he remembered, and nothing seemed extraordinary. But that fear, that stinging feeling, was stuck in his heart.

Suddenly, the door popped open, jolting Paxton, and in came a doctor. He strode in, happily walking with a grin. With a shaved head, a stubbled moustache, and a dark complexion the middle-aged doctor seemed content. He stood near Paxton, by the nightstand, holding a datapad in one hand.

“I’m Dr. Santé,” He stuck out his hand and shook it with Paxton’s, who had risen from the bed. “You’re at the Chaya Medical Center, on the Presidium. I’ve been assigned your family’s doctor and I’m fortunate to say that you have no terrible injuries. You suffered from a concussion, but don’t worry too much. It should be in the final stages. By tomorrow or the next you will good, Paxton.”

_Family_.

The thought of the two women sprang into his mind. He remembered their bodies lying across the pavement with his appeared in his head again. The rising and falling of their chests as they laid on the ground bloodied, dirty, and sweaty. Paxton could see his sister’s face covered with ash as her mouth hung open, parts of her hair in her mouth. On his other side was his mother, bleeding through her suit on the ground. Paxton was hard-pressed as to why they were on the ground.

Looking up at Dr. Santé, he asked, “Where are they?” His voiced was hushed and restrained, he could feel how dry his throat from not speaking for so long.

“Don’t you worry about them. They’re fine. In fact, your sister is already at home.” Dr. Santé patted Paxton’s shoulder with a smile. “Now Paxton, you need to focus right now on taking care of yourself. We’ve ran tests and there is no illness or injury in you. However,” The doctor looked at his datapad and scrolled through his files about Paxton. “we found an increase in your electrical levels, as if some current went through your body. Nothing to be concerned over. It seemed to slightly burn your right arm, stemming from your hand but we quickly fixed it.”

Paxton then hung his legs over the bed, his pale skin showing on his thin legs. He looked up at the doctor who continued his grin, something Paxton tried to replicate.

“Paxton, do you feel any pain in your hands, arms, anywhere? How is your body holding up?” Dr. Santé held a datapad in his hand, looking down at list for him to write symptoms down. Paxton shook his head, telling the doctor he was fine. He then looked through his datapad, going onto Paxton’s medical history, his eyes jolted a bit. “Paxton, we can assign you a grief counselor—”

“Fine.” Paxton said. “I’m fine. Just when can I leave here, doctor?”

“Well, you can always accept later. Anyways, we can discharge you today. That’s good news, Paxton.” Dr. Santé said. “I’ll get started on getting you out of here. It won’t take long; we’ll mail your medication and send you the paperwork before the end of the day. Your belongings are in the nightstand. Just take it easy for the week following, okay? Good, well I’ll get going, Paxton.”

When he left the room, Paxton gradually eased himself up from his bed. He took a few steps forwards and practiced walking around again. However long he was out, he felt stiff when walking. When he felt comfortable walking again, he took the bag out from the nightstand and entered the bathroom.

Inside the bag there was a basic, bland hospital-issued clothes, a jacket, white shirt, and black pants. There was also his bandanna, his bag, his choker—all having been cleaned. There was a weird serrated knife. He held the knife in his hand, confused and startled. He felt a pressing against his head and his stomach felt light as he held the knife. For some reason, this knife was here. Paxton tried to find an answer for it but failed doing so.

He removed his hospital gown and pulled on his clothes. Paxton took slow precision in wrapping the choker around his neck and hearing the click from the sliver ring be put it in place. Paxton moved his hands carefully and methodically when putting the bandanna around his head. Tucking his hair behind his face and leaving room for some hair to be styled on the side of his face. He swung his bag over his shoulder and rushed back into the hospital room. He stuffed the cards he received into his bag and made a note to have the flowers be delivered back to his home.

Disheveled but energized, Paxton rushed over to the drape-hidden windows. He swung them open, he winced as the light struck back his eyes. He stood back for a few seconds with blinded eyes, blinking to see what was in front of him. The burning in his eyes died down, he began to see what was in front of the window.

Whites, greens, and blues splashed onto him. The white stretches of beams coming cut through the place, they were connected to other stretches of white buildings that warped around the entire surroundings. Images of inauthentic, simulated blue skies and clouds beamed out light and reflected across the water below it. Cars zipped through the air. Paxton knew where he was, the Presidium on the Citadel— _home_. The calmness of the cars flying across, the pedestrians walking across on the ground, water shimmering and reflecting the light source.

Turning his back, stood near the door, and took a heavy breath. The air from his lungs flowed through his entire body, calming it down. When pushed through the door, nurses and doctors of different species walked down the hall. The hospital was full of energy and life, yet Paxton knew the morgue couldn’t be too far away. Across the hall, he could see two C-Sec officers standing beside a door, each holding a rifle in their hands and standing tall. They nodded to him. On the door was a clipboard with files on it, its title consisted of one person: Melanie Harbor.

Paxton’s eyes felt cloudy; he pressed a foot forwards towards the door but yanked it back. He just couldn’t, or not now at least. Just imagining her on a bed, eyes closed and mind drifting—he just couldn’t.

With fast steps, Paxton shuffled down the hall, bowing his head down a bit as he threw his hood over his head. He shoved his hands into his pocket, kept his eyes away from his surroundings, and looked forwards. His breath slowly picked up, murmuring to himself as he moved as fast. He kept telling himself, _I want to go home_.

He cut through areas, trying to find an exit. Occasionally he bumped into people, gently apologizing whenever he did. Past a large door, there was a private corridor that had an elevator. With his eyes pointed towards the floor, he sped towards it as he saw his boot come forward and move away fast within his eyesight. His mind still raced with thoughts of the door he stopped himself from going into, thinking about how his mother looked on Proserpina, how his sister looked in terror—he just couldn’t think of it. At least now, to Paxton, this exit would ease the burdens and—

_CRASH!_

Paxton put a hand on his head, wincing at a sharp, sudden pain which swiftly subsided. He stumbled backwards, he saw on the ground a dark liquid spill slither towards him, its smell reminded him of coffee. There was a profanity shouted out loud, an angry sounding voice that turned around fast to look down at the human who had his eyes pointed downwards, hands held together, and body somewhat lowered. What Paxton could only see out from his hood two turian feet, tapping forcefully on the ground. The turian pulled down Paxton’s hood and stared down at him.

“ _You._ ”

A familiar voice sent a Paxton into a silent frenzy. As if a blizzard had suddenly appeared, he felt his body shiver and tense up. His fingers gnawed at skin from inside his pockets. The deep voice with a sound of scorn and shock forced Paxton to look up at the turian standing over him. One of his hands was planted at his hip while the other gripped a datapad so tightly that it was shocked Paxton that it wasn’t crushed.

Red. That was the color that smothered him. He stared down at Paxton with his red eyes and they cut through Paxton. Eerily, they reminded him of human blood. Within those eyes, a storm of intense, cautious, and calculated thought erupted. The markings on his face were all red: his entire chin was covered and there were two strips on his mandibles.

A fitted red vest wrapped around his torso, underneath was a red and black sweater that was splattered with coffee, and he wore black pants. It was made of some of the finest materials, probably imported from Thessia or some other rich asari world. Even the datapad he slipped into one of his pockets was the most recent model.

Even for a turian, he was tall. He stood at 7’0” and towered over Paxton, and most other people. The human only stood several inches below the turian’s chin. The turian’s face was silver face and he had sandy skin. Paxton backed a little bit away from him, moving his boot backwards from him. On one side of his face was a bandage, a white wrap partially around one of his mandibles where little dots of his blue blood could be seen. The 22-year-old turian shook his head.

The turian’s face was mixed with flurry of emotions, cultivating in one confused stare. It only took a second for his face to emit a cautious, reserved stare. Yet his eyes spoke of a killing anger and a depressive death.

His name is Arcadius Ataraxia.

“It’s really you.” Arcadius said, taken aback. The turian’s mouth was slightly open and he seemed to back away, as if he were trying to convince himself that he wasn’t hallucinating. He moved warily. After he placed his datapad into his pocket, he shook his head. The turian took in a large breath. “It’s been a long time, Pax. A _very_ long time.”

Paxton was stricken with disbelief that he was with Arcadius. The fact that this turian was in front of him just seemed so unbelievable to him. A part of Paxton wanted to touch Arcadius, to hold his hands, put a finger up to his face, and bring him close to make sure that he is real. Another part of him wanted to turn and hide, to never be see again by Arcadius.

“Arcadius?” Paxton’s eyes were wide. He shook his head, blinking several times to make sure that it was in fact Arcadius and not some other turian he walked into. When he looked at Arcadius, he felt a lump in his throat. With a blank face, he just looked at Arcadius. They both had their hands close to their bodies and seemed to hug themselves. They both looked as if they wanted to say something, anything, yet they refused.

They stood in front of each other, just staring in each other’s faces. Words could not form from Paxton’s mouth as his mind went blank. There was a primal urge in him to fight, to fight the danger in front of him. A deep, boiling rage erupted in his chest. He felt like a fire was set inside of his body; a flame consuming, destroying any trace of his existence and only leaving the anger behind. Looking at the turian’s red eyes made Paxton want to take back control and set the flames onto him.

But, confusingly so, Paxton felt another instinct; escape the danger, to run and hide until he was safe. This feeling, a feeling which froze Paxton and caused him to feel a coldness along his body. A chilling, icy feeling which prevented him from running. He felt like ice was forming around his body; the stinging warmth of coldness snapped at his skin. Inside, his body wasn’t frozen. His stomach churned, gurgled with fear as he felt his adrenaline race throughout his body. This… _terror_ controlled him.

Paxton looked at Arcadius, his expression blank but his body mixed with emotion. Slowly, craned his head back up to the tall turian.

“I,” Arcadius paused, breaking the uneasy silence. “I did not expect to see _you_ today.”

“That’s one way to put it!” Paxton weakly laughed as he tried to avoid looking at Arcadius’ eyes. Arcadius joined in with the laughter, and now both had an insecure shake in their laughs. Paxton held his hands around his back and looked back up at Arcadius, who had a slight smile on his face. “Sorry for the bump. Well, anyways,” Paxton coughed. “it’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah, same.” Arcadius put his hands into his pockets and looked at the ground. “Oh, well, how are you holding up? I heard what happened on Proserpina—and that’s just awful, completely and terribly awful, by the way—I hope your mother is okay.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Paxton cleared his throat again and rolled his hair around his ear with a shaky finger. “She’s doing good, really good. We’re all going to be okay.” He looked at the bandage on Arcadius’ face. Paxton half-laughed, “Now, are you okay?”

“Me?” Arcadius jumped slightly and spoke fast, as if he were running out of time. “Yeah, yeah I’m good. Just a shooting accident, recently went out to the shooting range and the recoil of my gun was a bit too much.” He dropped his hands into his pockets and swung his foot over the other. Arcadius, while hunched over a small bit, said while raising the plates above his eyes slightly, “Accidents happen, y’know?”

“They’re not toy guys anymore, Arcs!” This provoked more forced. Paxton saw the awkward, turian-esque smile on his face but saw Arcadius eyes; there seemed to be a mix of anger, or sadness, resting in it. Paxton could sense that Arcadius felt the stings of fury and sorrow like him. But this wasn’t comforting to him, it only terrified him more. Paxton felt janky, his movements slow and steady while he spoke to the turian.

Arcadius placed his hand on his hip and talked with a laugh. “Your sister is giving me quite a challenge for Student Director of Asha. She’s a real worker, always had been.”

“Well,” Paxton said, “it must be in our blood to fight politics with an Ataraxia.”

“Yeah, yeah! Good one!” Arcadius swung his head with laughter as he looked down at the ground. He kept muttering to himself his last words and slowly shook his head. Along the turian’s was confusion. Sharp red eyes stared at Paxton with precision, as if they were digging deep into his soul. The anxious, jittered movements the turian had were gone and were replaced with fast-paced strides. He looked towards the ground, let an agitated breath escape from his mouth, and looked at Paxton.

Arcadius then looked around them, he scanned the corridor. The turian took several steps forward, checking the area before the hallway and found nobody around. With that, he sighed again and placed his hands on his hips. His awkward smile contorted into a frown on his face. The turian’s mandibles stretched outwards with frustration. The human’s face burned, and his body trembled. Paxton bowed his head and started to pace towards the elevator.

Arcadius stood in front of it.

“I need to get going, Arcadius.” Paxton tried to gently squeeze his way through him, but Arcadius kept moving to whatever side Paxton wanted to leave out of. “Hey, Arcadius, I need to—”

“ _No_.” Arcadius said firmly, though it sounded more like an order. He glared down at him, he shook his head and crossed his arms. His foot tapped fast on the ground as he stared at Paxton. The turian’s tone shifted into a more accusatory, prosecutorial tone which almost popped the mandibles out of his face as he spoke. “Let’s cut the bullshit, Paxton. I cannot believe that you would just come over to me, _shove_ me, and expect everything to be okay. You _know_ what is wrong with all of this.”

“Look, Arcadius, that’s not what happened.” Paxton started to sweat; he felt his heart rate accelerate. The sides of Paxton’s head felt as if they were going to explode. He then pointed towards his chest as he spoke, speaking fast while he did. “I’m so sorry that I bumped into you, it was a complete accident. I wasn’t trying to argue with you, Arcadius, I really wasn’t. Please, I just need to leave here.”

“After all this time, _years¸_ and this is how you approach me? All we’ve said to each other is just ‘Hello’ and ‘Goodbye” for years now. But all you care about is leaving?” Arcadius stood back from Paxton and cocked his head sideways. He raised his hand and dropped it down. He gave Paxton a stern, sharp look of animosity. “Seriously?”

“Arcadius, this is not what I had planned to do. If you want me to buy you a new drink or I’ll pay for your shirt to be cleaned if they’re now dirty, I’ll do it.” Paxton became flustered, his face reddened more, and his sweat touched the ground. “Arcadius, please let me through.”

“It’s _selfish_ of you to just fake small talk, Pax. I don’t care if this isn’t this right time—no, you don’t deserve that. I’m not going to cater to your needs when you never thought of mine. How can you just force someone out of their life and pretend that I was never a part of it? Now _that’s_ selfish.”

Paxton’s eyes watered as he tightened his fist. The frown on his face was contorted into a sneer. His wet eyebrows, drenched in anxious sweat, were pulled down. “ _Don’t_ go there, Arcadius. You don’t know everything.” Paxton breathed heavily. He felt his knees and voice began to shake. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“I don’t really care, Pax. Don’t exaggerate everything, _I’m_ not the bad person here.” Arcadius scoffed and scowled at the jittery human. “Now you’re going to talk to me, you owe me that much. You know that to be true.”

He _did_ know that to be true.

Instead, Paxton just clutched the strap of his bag tightly and backed away into the wall. The turian proceeded to walk towards him. “I’m sorry, Arcadius. I just, I just need to leave please. I’m not going to talk about it, I’m sorry. Please stop being…” Paxton paused. “irrational.”

“ _Irrational?!_ ” Arcadius shouted at Paxton, causing the human to flinch and be surprised that no one heard him. The turian stopped pacing, pointed at the center of his chest and said, “You don’t even care for what I have to say, don’t you?”

Paxton felt like he was having an allergic reaction; he felt skin redden, sweat drip down across his body, and, most frightening to him, that his throat was being closed tight. It was as if he was being strangled, but no hands were wrapped around his neck. With a quiet voice, he pleaded. “Please, I want to leave, just—”

Paxton clutched his bag tightly, holding his close to his chest. He backed away from Arcadius, but he was followed. Arcadius sharply turned back to Paxton and pointed in his face. The turian’s larger finger made Paxton cringe backwards. “Fuck, Pax, all you want to do is leave! All you do is avoid my questions. Do you think I deserve at least one answer from you, at the very least? Do you think after _shunning_ me for almost 10 years you would have something to say?

“ _I’m a person too, Paxton_.”

Paxton turned his head away from Arcadius and stared at the ground. The human could feel the turian’s breath on his neck; the warmness of the breath sent another chill along Paxton’s body. Arcadius’ breathing was labored, constantly puffing with anger as his face was pressed close to Paxton’s. When he turned his head back to Arcadius, he saw the fury stretched across his face. Somehow, more so than before, and scarier, too, he felt that the turian’s mandibles were about to snap off his face. It didn’t matter; Paxton looked at him in his face and tried to muster up the courage in his body to glare at Arcadius. It was an honest, yet failed, attempt.

“If you want to argue in a _hospital,_ that’s your choice. I don’t want to talk about this here, Arcadius. I’m so sorry but this is _way_ too much for me to handle right now. Please understand where I’m coming from. It’s really, _really_ hard to just be here. Please.” Paxton’s voice was shaky, as was the rest of his body movements. The turian remained unconvinced and unsatisfied. If anything, the turian looked even angrier. “Please, Arcadius, just not here. It’s hard enough to talk to you, let alone anyone else.

“Please, just listen to me.”

“Why? You never did.” Arcadius chided. “You can’t live in this little bubble forever. You either confront your problems—like _me_ —or you let them simmer until they boil over, fester, and grow into a rage that you cannot control—like _you_.

“Now give me an—"

“ _NO!_ ” Paxton snapped. He pressed his finger at Arcadius and stepped forward. “You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, Arcadius! It was eight years ago! I’m done with this stupid, petty fight. I just got off a planet where my people were being treated like animals, you ignorant creep. Do not talk to me I owe you anything because you’ll get nothing from me. _Nothing_. Grow up! Grow the hell up and get away from me, Arcadius!”

The turian’s eyes widened for a moment before tightening with anger as Paxton’s face was flushed red and his mouth tightened into a sneer. It took several huffs from his chest to calm himself down. When he looked to the floor, he shook his head. He grasped his bag and marched towards the elevator.

“I’m leaving.”

“I told you to answer me, _human._ ”

He grabbed Paxton’s wrist. There was a great tremble across Paxton’s body as he looked directly in the turian’s eyes. Across Arcadius’ face was a grimace, heavy breathes came from out his mouth.

Abruptly, Arcadius let Paxton go. He loomed over Paxton ominously for a few seconds before closing his eyes, letting out a deep breath. Instead of yelling again, he so simply looked at Paxton with a sullen face that then dropped into a subdued angered state. He sounded annoyed and defeated, as if he had just lost a serious game.

“Just, just don’t talk to me ever again. Keep your distance. I just know that, no matter what, there is no point to talking to you if you’re going to continue to never end this. This is what you started but you refuse to stop this. You fucked this up, _again_.”

“Arcadius, I…” Paxton’s eyes watered, and his bottom lip trembled. He shook his head, looking back up at him with sorrow. “I don’t know what to say. I…I’m so sorry.”

“Go fuck yourself, Paxton.” Arcadius pointed to the spilled drink on the ground. “Clean your mess, no one is going to do it for you, human. I should’ve known that talking with one of your kind was impossible. I should’ve known that, when presented with truth, a human will just run off and pretend reality doesn’t exist. All of your kind is the same. _All._ I should’ve known someone like you will refuse to be reasonable.

“You, you can sulk all you want; I don’t care anymore. I should never have wasted part of my life hoping you weren’t a still a kid. You’re a _mess_. I’ve got better places to be, better people to talk to, and just a better life to live without you.” Arcadius clenched his jaw and whispered into Paxton’s ear. “I know you more than whatever friends you’ve got.”

Before Arcadius walked into the elevator, he looked over and spoke,

“I know the _real,_ Paxton Harbor.”

The elevator brought Arcadius down from Paxton’s view.

Paxton sat on the floor, up against a wall, and rested his hands along his knees. He shook his head and bit his lip. The fabric of his jacket started to get wet from small drips of water from Paxton. There was a soreness in his muscles as he kneeled against the ground. Inside of him, he felt heavy as he took off his jacket. When he began to clean the floor with his jacket, tears flowed freely from his eyes.

Paxton felt his heart drain across the floor, creating massive puddle of despair around him. It didn’t matter how hard he cleaned; the mess only seemed to get bigger. He ran his fingers through his hair and stared at himself at the opaque reflection in the mess. Thankfully, to Paxton, it obscured his appearance.

“You don’t know _anything,_ Arcadius Ataraxia.” Paxton whispered to himself as he began to clean the mess that he was in.

***

Paxton sat on a bench, it was in a corner away from a crowd, but it overlooked the Wards. He was near a shopping, easy-going, hang-out center—the Sisyphus Center. It was a commercial center near Asha Institute, where many of young students of all species gathered together to take a break from their studies. It wasn’t uncommon to find groups of students laughing hysterically or crying hysterically together in corners with their coursework spread across a table. The place was glistening with lights that glowed red, orange, blue, and purple.

And it was always crowded.

His legs were together, and his back was hunched over with his bag on his lap. Inside his bloated bag was a drenched jacket that, if squeezed, dripped out liquid onto the floor. He sighed. Lifting his head upwards he looked around: soft whirs in the sky were from cars zipping away, pedestrians walking on pathways below and laughing between themselves, and advertisements on restaurants and shops that tried to lure him into buying whatever they sold.

Paxton dug his hand into his bag, taking out his tablet. He inspected it. Turning the tablet over and analyzing it, he realized there wasn’t any damages or broken parts to it. Paxton took a deep breath of relief. When he grabbed his stylus, he tapped on his tablet, and let the loading screen pop on. The screen read the date, July 17, 2180.

 _A whole week?_ He started scrolling through notifications quickly, realizing that he’s missed seven days of his life. Whenever an article about Proserpina showed on his screen Paxton removed it as if it was a cancerous tumor inside a body. He didn’t know if it were in remission or not. As the dates increased further to the present, less articles appeared about Proserpina. He removed his tablet and stylus from his bag and began to write.

_July 17, 2180_

_Everywhere I look I see people walking, talking, and being unaware of, well, tragedy. When I see monitors, Proserpina isn’t blasting on it, the pundits just argue, and nothing is revealed. Nor do I want to go and check to see the revelations. I’ve been in it. ~~~~_

_My mind just feels so fuzzy, I can’t remember my dreams, but that feeling still stays. I want to remember but I can’t. I don’t even know how I got here. I can only see those terrible images of death just looping in my head, replaying and replaying until I cannot think of anything else. I need to remember more; I just have to. But I know I can’t, or, if I can, I shouldn’t._

_I can’t go back to my mind within that state. Proserpina isn’t ready for me,_

_And everyone else, too._

_No one seems to care, no one. I see nothing and nobody acts any different. It just feels so wrong. I feel like nobody seems to even care about this. I wonder if I’m the only one who actually cares about Proserpina. Hell, I don’t even remember most of it, but I care. Why do all these people have the privilege to not care? No one bothers unless it’s them, and then they realize they’re off all alone._

_Maybe it’s just me. Maybe._

_I just can’t with this right now, especially not when my jacket is still drying from cleaning up my mess. I can still feel Arcadius’ breath on me, his tight grip around my wrist. I can still see him above me and looking down at me. It’s so fucking uncomfortable when I see him._

_The fire in his eyes turns me into ash when we’re around each other. It’s even worse when I talk to him. Mostly, he just insults me when I walk near him. It’s so subtle that I think I’m losing my mind, but I know he does it. I just know it. But this time, for the first in a long time, I actually said more than just a goddamn greeting to him, and he said more than an insult passing by. I should’ve known it was just a fucking front for a verbal lashing._

_He thinks he can reprimand me like a child. It’s him whose stuck as one. How does he even feel remotely comfortable bringing that up in a fucking hospital? All he wanted to do was just yell at me. That’s it. All he wants is just see me be miserable and below him._

_I should’ve told him straight in his face that he just insults me! All he does is that if we fast-walk by each other in Asha, I can hear him utter some human slur at me. And when I turn around, he just stares at me. It’s so quiet that only I would hear. I have to tell myself that I’m not crazy because I know it’s happening. I really do. He holds onto this rage against me. But I can’t blame him. If I were him, or just anyone really, I’d probably get sick of me, too._

_God, I still cannot believe I saw him—like actually him. It’s so weird because the last time I saw him, he was so…different. And a lot shorter, too. I wanted to hug him, to hold his body near mine and laugh about it. He would’ve made fun of me for doing so before, but I knew he liked it. But now…but now I don’t even know who he is. It’s been so long and so many years have passed where we both aren’t the same. I just wish that it didn’t go as bad as that, I wish it was calmer and quieter. I hate seeing him like that because I know, even though how angry he is now, Arcs is still in there._

_But is he?_

_Every time I see him, I just get so completely and utterly broken. I just feel awful, completely awful. Arcadius is right, maybe I’m just never going to admit anything I do wrong. Or maybe I’m just the wrong._

_Is it bad I still miss him?_

_Goddamn it, Arcadius, we were just kids._

_Some people have it hard reading turian moods from their face, but I always know. I can see right through him._

_But honestly, I only wish I could never see him again. I just wish I never met him. I just feel so lost. He deserves better. I shouldn’t have skirted his questions and angered him. I don’t know what to think. No, I deserved better. No excuses for someone like him. He says I’m angry, and you know what? I’m fuming. I wish I could’ve just thrown him to the ground when he grabbed my wrist. He’s such a bitch._

_You know what? I don’t know what to feel anymore. It’s all so childish and stupid. I am a goddamn adult not some teenager stuck in some high school drama. Though it certainly feels like it right now._

_All this stuff hurts my head, I just want it to be over with._

_Hopefully soon._

Arms squeezed around his body, almost yanking him up from the bench.

“PAXTON!” Alison Rae ran up to him, she wrapped her hands around his chest and gave him a hug from behind. Her hair bounced in the air, jumping with every step she did. When he turned around from his frightened greeting, he sped around the bench and embraced her close. Alison’s face curved into a concerned grin as she stood back and gave him some space. She still had his wrists clenched in her hands, moving them with every word she spoke. “I was like so scared. You don’t understand how little I slept this week.”

Seeing her bright face, her beautiful smile, and warm eyes dropped Paxton’s anxiety. The bounce of her hair when she turned her head, the way her face showed genuine concern, and her rich and soothing voice made Paxton feel welcome.

“Not as much as me, that’s for sure.” Paxton quipped. “I had to get my beauty sleep.”

“In that case you must be sleep deprived.” Alison took his hand, yanking him away from the bench. She giggled with him. Her laugh was deep, loud, but reminded Paxton of a child’s. They walked down out from the area and down into a parking lot. Alison turned her head to him. “One week later and Paxton Harbor hasn’t lost his personality.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?” Paxton jested. Alison pulled out a miniature magnifying glass from the pocket of her high-waisted white pants. She started to inspect his body, looking up and down, occasionally nodding her head. He let out a confused laugh and put his hands-on hips. “Um, is there something you’re looking for, Alison?”

She placed her magnifying glass into her back pocket and folded her hands in front of her, saying, “I just had to make sure that somebody didn’t take the _real_ Paxton. Who knows what could’ve happened when you were shipped back here?”

“What do you,” Paxton stuttered when he planted his hands on the straps of his bag. Tilting his head and repeating, “what do you mean?”

“Oh…you and your mom and sister were transported here from Proserpina on some Alliance medical ship or something. Or at least that’s what my dad told me. Alison shrugged her shoulders, placing a hand on her friend’s back. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. Let’s not discuss… _that_ right now, you just got out your hibernation. I’m just glad my friend is back home. We’ll talk when it’s okay with you.” She stopped suddenly and pointed her hand in Paxton’s face. “And yes, I did buy a mini magnifying glass for that joke. I’ve been planning for it _all week_. I was really proud of that one.”

“Wow.” Paxton said flatly. “Your sad attempts at ‘humor’ makes me want to be stuck on Proserpina.”

“Don’t be an asshole, okay? I will be the first to admit that I’m not the funniest person around—”

“That’s true.”

She glared and continued, “but you know what, Harbor? Alison Rae, even if she’s not successful, tries.”

“Two words: try harder.”

“Being a dick doesn’t make you funny.”

“Well, it doesn’t stop me from laughing.”

“I will never _not_ hate you.”

They laughed and walked together. The two waited by a car, leaning against it and joking between themselves. Alison caught Paxton up with the latest gossip, who was dating who, who just broke up, who failed their classes at Asha and—ooh! Corina Lepidus so drunk at a party, damn asari can’t hold her drinks. At some points Alison and Paxton giggled loudly, getting the attention of some people walking past who shook their heads at them.

When the two laughed, he saw the bounce in her eyes and the smile pull up her cheeks. For some reason, despite her back around, Proserpina still was there in back of his mind. Even as he was standing on the Citadel, a part of him still felt like he was still there. It was like he was still feeling the ash in the air, fires—

Coming out from the distance they both could see Louison Jansen and Ida Michiko walking towards them. Louison gave a tight bear hug to Paxton, squeezing him and spinning him around for a few seconds. Ida stood back, shook her head with a smile, and pulled Louison off a bit.

“Dude, he just got out of a coma.” Ida said laughing. She turned to Paxton, hugged him carefully while holding a drink in one hand, and then handed him a small gift bag. “It’s nice to see you again, Paxton. You don’t understand how scared we were. We missed you.”

“I would say I missed you, but I was asleep for most of the week.”

“Yeah, yeah, open your present.” Ida laughed, pointing at the bag.

There was a small hand mirror in the bag. It had silver olive branches twisted along the frame to the top. The glass was pristine, shiny and reflexive. Paxton could see every bit of his face; every detail was perfectly clear. Paxton was taken back by it, tilted his head and found it odd. “It’s so…real.”

“It’s asari made, it’s based on some rural Earth areas. We found it at a shop, and we thought it was perfect. Now when you want to think about your existence and the meaning of life, you’ve got a mirror to ponder just that.” Ida said. “Bad hair day Paxton will definitely need it to be saved. Oh, and don’t worry. It’s hard to break, you can slam it against a table, and it won’t crack. It’s super durable.”

“And super expensive.” Louison jested, getting a glare from Ida and Alison. “And super nice?” Louison gave an absent-minded grin which got a shrug from them.

“Well, thank you. I’ll keep it with me when I go to party.”

“That’s _got_ to be a joke, Paxton. You? A party? Never!” Alison laughed with her friends.

“That’s _got_ to be a joke, Alison. You? Funny? Never!” Paxton snorted loudly, causing Louison to erupt in hysterics.

Alison glared at her friends and noticed even Ida was laughing slightly. “Ida…I thought _you_ were the reasonable one.”

“Alison,” Ida said, speaking as if she didn’t want to continue, “I hate to bring up the time you tried stand-up last year…”

“Fine, fine.” Alison said, defeated. “Point taken.”

“You’re a better journalist than comedian.” Paxton told Alison, poking her with the mirror.

“Oh? Now you want to be friends?”

“Who else do I have to gossip with? My sister?” Paxton laughed as he slid the mirror into his bag. “Trust me, Ali, you’re a friend.”

“Of course I am.” Alison smirked.

The four drifted in light conversation as the they were bringing Paxton up-to-speed with the latest in Asha news. Alison had even made a list of the recent events in galactic news from the past week and read them off to Paxton.

When Paxton slid his mirror into his bag, Ida looked down at the bag and noticed the jacket. “What’s with your jacket? It smells like a barista’s wet dream.”

“I, I don’t want to…” Paxton looked up and saw across Sisyphus was Arcadius, chatting up a couple of people around their age. He was wearing a new, unstained shirt. The students wore clothes with the Asha Institute logo on it. He looked like a seasoned politician, laughing and listening to whatever a student was saying and then exchanging social media profiles, but Paxton knew under that face wasn’t the truth. Paxton’s friends looked at him staring at Arcadius with dreadful eyes with a half open mouth, just slightly dropped. “Can we go? I think I need to get home.”

“ _Him?_ ” Alison hissed, crossing her arms. “That sly fucking turian, he is such an asshole to literally every human unless they like bow to him. Nobody sees it or they don’t want to see it. Even other humans don’t see it. He _cannot_ be student director. It’ll go right to his head.”

“As if making Alex director would make all of us better off.” Ida said. Quickly, she snapped back to Paxton with one of her eyebrows raised with an apologetic smile. “No offense.”

“Absolutely _none_ taken.” Paxton sighed and paced around. “I just hate that it’s _them_. I can’t understand that the runoff vote is of them. I, for the life of me, can’t understand why people like them so much.

“And why does it have so much bearing on our lives at Asha? Why does that title give them so much power? It’s _so_ much more than really should be. Having access to millions of credits shouldn’t even be possible as a student director, but they get to budget it however way they want.

“With her being, well, _her_. And Arcadius,” Paxton grimaced. “Just saying that name makes me want to jump off a roof. There is no happy medium. Between Alex and Arcadius, we’ll end up either living in a police state or some off-brand military dictatorship.”

“And that’s why I hate politicians.” Alison groaned. “They’re all lying to you and laughing at you on the inside. It’s why I report on them, to make sure they’re not lying all the time.” She began to quickly clear her throat with a nervous laugh as she looked at Paxton. “Except your Mom, of course. No offense.”

He just shrugged his shoulders.

Louison was fuming, he had his eyes fixed onto Arcadius and clenched his fist. “Did he make another insult again? He needs his ass beat. I don’t care if he has almost a foot on me.” Louison rolled his eyes at him and turned to Paxton. He shoved his curled fists in his pocket, glaring at the turian in the distance. “If he does anything you’ve got to fight him back. Fight fire with fire, Paxton. Punch that skeleton face.”

The other three collectively expressed shock at Louison. They shook their heads at his expression.

“Hey, Louison, Paxton is _not_ going to fight an Ataraxia. As much I want him socked, you know what kind of diplomatic incident would occur if the children of two secretaries-general fist fought? You know damn well that every turian got their military training. He’ll put you down before you can swing your fist.

“You better turn your hot war cold. And _fast_.” Ida put her arm around Paxton, and continued, “Just tell us what happened _this_ time. What comment did he make this time?”

“It’s not important, really. It was stupid. We just talked. Not a good one, we just did. End of story. He just makes me uncomfortable.” Paxton talked fast, occasionally slurring words in his fast pace. “Look, I just don’t want to be here. Is that reason enough?” Paxton almost had tears in his eyes, and he started to speak lower, mouthing the word ‘Please’ to them.

Before they could leave, they could see Arcadius walking over to them with his datapad clenched in his hand. The three collectively sighed, while Paxton felt his himself stiffen.

“Y’know,” Louison whispered. “if we all grabbed a part of him, we could land a few hits in. He can’t take us _all_ down.”

“If only he could take _you_ down.” Ida elbowed his side, making Alison laugh.

Still, Paxton had his eyes stuck on Arcadius. His fingers dug so deeply in his bag that its leather started to wear down slightly.

When Arcadius stood in front of them, he gave, from what he could replicate, a form of turian grin. The sides of his mandibles tipped upwards; his teeth exposed slightly. “Hi, everyone! I’m out here to remind everyone, and I mean _everyone_ , to vote soon. The online portal to vote is open and it will be for a little while. As a candidate, I am obligated to encourage all Asha Students to vote. So, any questions?”

“Who are you voting for, Ataraxia?” Said Louison, slyly.

“Any _real_ questions?”

“What did you to Paxton?” Louison said firmly, his voice lowered.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Arcadius cried, his grip on his datapad tightening.

“Will you stop?” Paxton hissed quietly to Louison.

“Look, I just came over here as a part of my _job_ and not to be accused of something that I supposedly ‘did’ to your friend. I don’t know Paxton, _at all_. I only know him because our parents are colleagues and I work with his sister. I’ve never spoken to him, only in passing before. I’ve never done anything with him.”

“You’re defensive, I can tell.” Louison said, narrowing his eyes at Arcadius. “We all know you hate Paxton _and_ humans.”

Arcadius turned his attention to Paxton and glared. “I don’t know what you’re saying about me, what you’re doing—but _stop_. I’m disinterested in being the topic of your gossip and talk with your friends. I _barely_ know you, so I don’t understand your grudge against me because it always seems you have these people give me dirty looks. I will only ask you once to stop before I have to report you for harassment. Trust me, I don’t want to. Do _not_ push me.”

All he could was just look at. There was nothing he could say, even if he wanted to. He just stood silent as he looked up at Arcadius. It was all he could do.

“I think you should just go.” Ida said as she awkwardly stepped in front of Arcadius. “There’s others you’ve got to talk.”

Without answering, or taking his eyes off Paxton, Arcadius stood straight and turned around. His fist was tightened around his datapad as he stormed off. When he turned around a corner, he locked eyes with Paxton once more and glared.

“Asshole!” Alison pushed Louison’s shoulder. “You need to practice, I don’t know, being a considerate friend.”

“C’mon, I doubt he’s going to try anything anymore. Arcadius Ataraxia is no longer going to be problem for us.”

“Yeah, and if he _doesn’t_ become the Director. Otherwise, he’ll place us all in a gulag.”

Ida looked at Paxton, “Ignore them, we should take you back home. Your sister is probably waiting for you.”

He didn’t answer, he just followed with them as they walked away from Sisyphus. Paxton occasionally turned back to the corner where Arcadius stood, and for some reason, he wanted him to be there looking at him,

“I can’t believe you were friends with him at one point.” Alison turned to Paxton, nudging his shoulder. “Was he always this insane?”

Taken aback, Paxton mulled over her question in his mind. Before he could say anything, Louison interjected.

“Don’t be dense, Ali, of course he was. No need to ask.” Louison dipped his hands in his pockets and rolled his eyes.

Alison glared. “Talk to me when you aren’t considered brain-dead.”

They laughed and began to walk over to Ida’s car. Paxton slid in the backseat with Alison, glancing out the window. They took off into the Citadel sky, zooming past other shuttles and flying into the Wards. Lights shimmered over his face and it danced around his eyes, which were constantly dilating and closing. While his friends were talking about Asha, he occasionally chimed in as well, but he mostly stayed relatively silent as ads of products and services popped around him in the Wards. Paxton could see people of every species assembled together in small pockets of groups, hanging out and enjoying themselves.

Occasionally Paxton saw a romantic restaurant, at one traffic stop he saw a proposal between an asari and a human. The asari leaped into the human’s arms, holding him and crying. The two received a healthy amount of applause from the patrons. As soon as Paxton’s heart melted the shuttle sped away, the couple faded in the distance until they became a blip in his memory. He felt everyone else was in control of their life, except for him.

Paxton rested his head onto the window, thinking of the fastness of his life.

As he closed his eyes he fell into a small slumber, and as he did, he felt connected with Melanie as they both were slipping into unconsciousness.

***

“Paxton, you’re not in a coma again, are you?” Louison looked behind to Paxton, who began to slowly wake up. “Oh good, I was really hoping we didn’t have to swing you to the hospital. They’re freaky.”

“We wouldn’t have had a problem doing so, _friend._ ” Ida glared at Louison, who then nervously laughed and nodded his head. “Paxton, you’re home. I think you may need to talk to your sister now.”

“Have fun with Alexandria the Ice Queen.” Alison pointed out the window to Alex, who stood at the opposite end of an apartment complex outer lobby. Before Paxton opened the door, she extended her arm over him. “My dad needs to speak with you. It’s just about what happened on Proserpina. You know, legal stuff. Don’t worry, he told me you should take the time you need.”

Paxton nodded and dragged himself out the skycar and gave a tired wave at his friends, who returned with thoughtful replies of his health and jokes at his sister’s expense. He watched as the shuttle descended into the traffic above, his friends slowly becoming blips in his vision as they disappeared into the sky.

There was tapping on his shoulder.

“Hey.” Alex spoke softer than usual, although it kept the straight-forward curtness that Paxton expected from het but lowered, softer. It brought him at ease to hear her speak…normally.

She stared at him for a few moments before embracing him in an awkward, slow hug. They patted the other’s back gently and slowly, not knowing how hard or fast to embrace. It all reminded Paxton of a vid of a robot learning to love, learning how to hug another.

She cleared her throat and scanned him and put her hands on his arms, as if she was trying to accept that was real. She then started to brush off Paxton’s clothing, though her touch wasn’t gentle. She then looked at his bag and smelled. Alex almost gagged at the coffee smell and looked back at Paxton with annoyance. “You don’t get total muscular weakness from a one-week coma, Pax. Keep your hand still.”

“It’s a,” Paxton looked at the ground. “long story.”

“Hey,” She snapped her fingers in front of his face and brought them up to hers. “what did I say about looking at the ground?”

“Don’t?”

“Exactly.” Alex said plainly. “I didn’t know you were being discharged today,” She added, “The doctors told you were going to be awake in a few days.”

“When was that?”

“Just yesterday, actually.” Alex crossed her arms and kept looking across the courtyard as if she was watching, waiting for something. Her foot tapped on the ground and her fingers kept dipping in and out of her arm. “It’s nice seeing again, Pax. Are you doing…okay?”

Paxton looked confused; more so taken aback by her…warmth? Was that it? Or emotion? He didn’t know but he just tittered. Paxton pulled his sleeves up and pressed his hands into his face and shook his head. When he looked at Alex’s face, she appeared to be just as puzzled as him.

“I feel like I’ve lived a year in just a day. It’s like everything that shouldn’t happen, happens. There is just no end.” Paxton confided in Alex, even though he felt like he shouldn’t. She kept giving him the same, confused look. It was unchanging. “But I’ll make it through. Don’t you worry.”

Alex sighed and turned around. “Let’s just go home.”

The two walked across a courtyard, it had a large fountain in the middle with several people sitting down at it. Their apartment complex had a mixture of various species walking around or floating around in a hanar’s case. One of things he liked about this particular Ward was its diversity unlike other Wards which had major populations of other species. But Asha Ward, _this_ was the true melting pot. When they then entered their building and took the elevator up to their floor.

The two stood at opposite ends of the elevator, both keeping themselves in their respective corners. Alex had her arms crossed and stood tall, keeping her head tilted away from Paxton and not looking in his direction. Paxton looked over her, trying to piece together whatever she was feeling. No matter how hard he tried, she remained a blank to him. Unlike Arcadius, there was nothing he pick up on. With that, felt trapped when he was around her. Paxton felt that she could control his emotions and withhold her own. Unless she said anything, he was constantly confused at who his sister was.

Everything Alex was an absolute mystery to him. She was an impregnable fortress of coldness her own making. Whatever she was, whoever Alex is, Paxton longed to be a part of her inner world. All he wanted was to be inside her head, even if she didn’t care to explore his inner world—he just his sister.

Alex’s face was firm, unmoving and not breaking from a fixed, almost permanent, glare. He thought she was beautiful, but her beauty did little to bring comfort to Paxton. He wondered if she was always this way around others or simply just around him. Whichever it was, it made Paxton’s face curve down.

_Whatever you are, whoever you are, I miss you, Alex._

_All I want is to tell you everything. I want to vent to you about Arcadius, I want to laugh with you with my friends, and get through this Proserpina mess. I want you to be in my future and not exist in my past._

_So please, please, please Alexandria, just let me in._

_Whatever you are, whoever you are, I love you, Alex._

Alex turned her head with confusion. “You’re staring at me. What?”

Paxton stood towards the door, clutching the straps of bag, and turned his eyes to her. When he saw her standing confused, he felt his chest grow heavy and sink back to his knees.

“I saw Arcadius today.” Paxton said, switching his mind away from his sister.

“I bet that one went over well.” Alex grimaced. “None of my business, however.”

“Yeah…” Paxton sighed. “I—”

“None of my business.”

“Right.”

“Hey,” She said. “I mentioned Arcadius when we argued on Proserpina. I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s okay.”

“Okay.”

Paxton stared at himself in the elevator’s doors. It reflected a blurry version of himself. It was him, he knew it, but it reminded him of a silhouette that wasn’t completely darkened. But, whatever image of himself he saw was too messy to piece together.

The elevator door opened, tearing his reflection into two.

They had passed a few doors down the hallway and stopped at their own. Alex punched in a code on a holographic keypad next to the door and scanned her hand. That prompted another code, followed by an eye scan. Finally, the door clicked open.

“Oh,” Alex said pointing to the box on the floor inside their apartment. “Before you come in, there’s a package on the floor next to the door for you. It’s weird, big, and heavy.”

The two walked inside and Paxton eyed the large box on the floor and stared at it with wonder. When he looked up, he saw his home again. Their home was a complete contrast of colors; black and white, with other colors barely popping out.

They entered the living room, which was very blankly decorated with a cutting modern design. White furniture and walls had a sleek, elegant design. It had heavy straight lines, very rarely was there curves in the decorations or the furniture. For its sharpness, the furniture was very soft and comfortable. There were windows, which counted as walls, on the opposite side of the entrance that led to a balcony overlooking Asha Ward.

A white fireplace had a screen above it, but it wasn’t turned on. Alex sat on the couch around it and started to type into her datapad. While Paxton still stood in the threshold between the entrance and the living room. After slowly slipping off his boots he cautiously walked around. Slouching, Paxton had his hands in his pockets and dragged his feet across the floor.

When he walked around his home, it felt strangely… _empty_. It was a peculiar feeling. Even at home, Paxton felt his own emptiness increase tenfold Everything had looked just like how the they left it before they had left with Melanie to Proserpina. Nothing was different, not physically at least. Every time he turned around to get a look at his home, it was all the same.

Paxton didn’t know what to expect, possibly something different at least. There should’ve been photo albums strung about. Tissues, perhaps, darted along the black hardwood floor. Or at very least there should be disheveled young woman with messy hair, puffy red eyes, and jittery movements!

Something, _anything_ , at least.

Paxton sighed.

“What?” Alex huffed, slapping the datapad against her legs. She crossed her arms and slowly tapped her foot against the floor. She jutted her head forward with confused brows and a weary smile, “You okay?”

“I …” Paxton sat next to her on the couch. He looked down at the floor and then straight forward at the fireplace. The fire cracked, whipped the air, and sent an ashy smell to his nose

The fire from the fireplace sent him back to Proserpina. He could feel the ashes in the sky falling, the stinging and lung-clogging heavy smell of burning buildings and people, the sticky sweat wrapping around his body. Even when he closed his eyes, he couldn’t escape it. There were just memories of the constant running, his legs stiffing up after, or what seemed to be, countless hours of sprinting.

He heard the endless yells in the distance, only for them to be silenced after a loud gunshot; he could still hear it ringing in his ears. Sometimes, in the corner of the streets, he could see some lifeless bodies just lying on the ground. It was only a glance during the run, but his mind quickly pieced it together.

The way his mother moved, confidently running without losing a breath or tripping; the soldier in her was still alive. Her fingers tightened around a pistol, with one always on the trigger. When she looked back and gestured with her arm to move faster, he could see the sternness in her eyes. His mother’s hair flowed her, constantly jumping from her shoulders.

It was then he could remember it clearly.

Himself, Alex, and his mother stuck in the back of the alley as slavers shot into the shield Melanie emitted from her Omni-Tool. The hissing from the shield terrified him when he saw the slavers start to destroy their own protection. When he saw her Omni-Tool start to build a blue spark, he did the same as her: letting his Omni-Tool charge a striking shock of electricity.

The clearest part of that moment was seeing Melanie’s panicked face when he ran up to her as the shield around started to fall. Before his Omni-Tool reached hers, he could see her mutter something softly. Her mouth moving to only emit one word.

_“Paxton…”_

“Pax!”

Alex shook his body. She looked at his red face, which was dripping in tears, and saw him move his hands away from his eyes. Her face was in shock, her mouth was slightly open as she looked over him. Frantically, he jumped from the couch and shook his head. He paced around the living room as Alex stood up from the couch.

“Pax, what just happened? One minute you’re fine and the next you’re off in another planet. What the hell happened?” She stood in front of him. “Just calm down,” She put her hands up, shaking them in front of her before putting them on her forehead. She stared to pace. “Just breathe. Come on, it’ll be fine, Pax.”

Paxton took several deep breathes. The air he huffed into his body sent a chilling comfort to him. When he controlled his breath, he felt the sting of emptiness set in him again. Now he knew the emptiness in their home.

Melanie.

Paxton walked over to a collection of hanging photos on the wall and saw a photo of her. It was an old photo, one from when she was his around his age standing next to another man in an Alliance scientist uniform. She was wearing armor with an assault rifle holstered on her back. The backdrop was of a lush green landscape, rolling mountains and hills of pure green. They both were laughing, their laughs producing tears, as evidenced from the drips from their eyes.

Paxton just stared at her, the emptiness only amplifying when he looked at her.

At the bottom of the frame was a label, written in Melanie’s cursive handwriting. It read:

_David & I. Our first colonial placement on Terra Nova. Trying to not be discharged! 2150_

Paxton put a finger up to her face, dragging it down until he touched the wall. He turned his attention over to his boots and quickly started to zip them back up.

“Pax!” Alex shouted as she stood next him, her arms outstretched. “What the name of God are you doing? Where are you going?”

He turned towards the door and swung it open. After he heaved the box in his hands, he turned back to Alex. Paxton gave her a small frown and looked across her body. There she stood, waiting for an answer and was confused as hell to what was happening.

“I’m,” Paxton cleared his throat. “I’m going to back to Chaya. I need to.”

With the box in his hands, he started down the hall. Alex stood out into the hallway as she saw Paxton dart away. She yelled his name once more, but he disappeared into an elevator. Alex looked at the ground as she shook her head. She stood in the middle of the hallway with her hands in her pockets and stared at the elevator.

The elevator’s doors closed in on Paxton and when they did, the reflection showed Alex standing in the empty hallway all alone. She bowed her head slightly and sighed. While dragging her feet, she made her way back into her home.

The door behind her slammed shut.

***

The door in front of Paxton had only one name:

Melanie Harbor.

The same feeling which wanted him to run was still pounding in his heart, but he knew that he couldn’t run away again. Slowly he took one hand from the box pressed his hand into the holographic lock until the door slid open. He walked in, keeping his eyes planted on the ground. The light was gone from the hallway and the room wasn’t pitch black; the soft ‘nighttime’ light of the Presidium was sliced by the blinds and onto the bed in the opposite side of the room.

_beep…beep…beep_

The sounds of the heart rate monitor filled the room. Paxton sluggishly moved in the room, dropping his bag and box on the floor without paying much attention to it. Instead, his eyes were stuck on the bed in the room. He just watched the slow rising and falling of her chest.

The image of Melanie with terrified eyes, expressing panic at him kept replaying in his mind. He imagined that he could see the three of them laying on the ground in the alley from above. A part of him felt that he was and wasn’t there; trapped between being a participant and a spectator. In his mind, he just saw her dirtied, exhausted face that had small drips of blood leaking on the ground. His mind didn’t allow him to find more memories, but he knew that they were there.

Paxton moved closer and grabbed a chair, holding it as he walked over to the bed. He positioned the chair next the bed and slowly sat down. His eyes were looking at the edge of the bed, away from her face. The blanket showed was an outline of her body. Paxton followed that outline until he saw her hand.

The veins on her hands and arms bulged out. Her fair skin was rough. On her long, thin fingers were few wrinkles that folded together. The knuckles below her fingers were prominent and were somewhat bruised. They were colored a greenish-yellow, which gradually falling back to her normal skin tone. Scars were on her hands from decades prior, but, like the scar over her eye, it was fading away. Melanie had hands weathered by age and war.

Paxton took his hands and held hers within his.

His body was scrunched up and pointed towards her. He took his thumb and rolled it down her hand slowly, feeling her boney fingers once more. Inside, he felt his chest drag him to the floor. Rubbing his foot over the other, he took silent and shallow breaths in.

Even though his neck felt weak and his head heavy, he looked at his mother’s face.

Unbothered by the outside world, Melanie laid with her head against the pillow with her eyes closed. The light glistened over her face; it was peaceful, content, and but blank. Her hair was parted down the middle and it comfortably rested on her shoulders. But that peace was broken by the medical equipment that provided her life support. Mechanical breathes came out from Melanie’s mouth.

The terrible emptiness inside of him was squashed as he felt it lifted from his body. For the first time, since her speech before the attack, he felt secure. His muscles relaxed and his breathing was brought down to a normal level. He didn’t know for how long he sat next to her; it didn’t matter to him. It didn’t matter to him, he just kept holding onto her hand.

Paxton felt his eyes grow heavy and spotted a couch in the side of the room. There was a closet and he grabbed a spare pillow and blanket and laid it across the couch. Paxton took his bag and the heavy box and put them on the couch. When he sat down, he held his legs then folded them. When he held his bag, he tossed his stained and smelly hoodie into the trash.

Paxton threw himself on the couch and flicked on his tablet.

_Whatever happened on Proserpina happened. People were slaughtered. There’s no hiding that. If we’re the survivors than I don’t know what we can do but sulk in our memories. Doubtful._

_If Alex can choose to ignore it, then so be it. It’s not my responsibility to make her care about anything. If she can play pretend, then let her. I won’t feel for the both of us. Mix her and that Arcadius, I should only expect people either unable or unwilling to care. Maybe my friends do…they probably do. But what can I say to them? Describe to them the smell of burning bodies? The screams in the distance of people begging not to be enslaved. They wouldn’t get it. I don’t even think I do._

_Everything is so trivial…my own friends to Alex to Arcadius. Just a bunch of dumb, pointless drama. It all doesn’t matter—just a distraction. This is what matters—her. Proserpina matters. Not some stupid “election” that Alex and Arcadius are probably going to fight for, or my own drama with Arcadius, or even my friend’s banter—just a distraction. It’s pointless. So fucking pointless. There were people’s lives stolen and all everyone seems to care is everything but that. Am I the crazy one for caring? I have to be. No one gets it._

_But she would. Stuck in her endless sleep, I only hope she knows I’m here. I need her here. She’s the cure-all, I guess. I just find myself so completely lost without having her presence around. Even though I don’t talk to her…I don’t feel right without her presence. Maybe that’s why I tagged along to Proserpina with her. Maybe._

_Wherever her mind is, I hope she’s somewhere far away from Proserpina._

_I know I want to be._

He swiped at the screen, bring it to a newsfeed. The screen flashed to present an asari newscaster sitting at a desk; a symbol of the Citadel was in the corner of the screen, flashing the name Citadel News Net.

“…Secretary-General Valerius Ataraxia made no comment when approached today regarding the human colony of Proserpina that was attacked and pillaged by slavers. Instead, his press secretary released a statement saying that Ataraxia feels ‘saddened’ and ‘mournful’ over the loss of the colonists but, in accordance with his first statement prior, reiterated that Terminus Systems colonies are beyond the power of the Citadel and cannot act on a primarily human issue…”

_Of course they can’t._ Paxton shuddered, grimacing at the name “Ataraxia”.

“Our sources tell us that Alliance investigation into the assault on Proserpina is not giving many insights as what exactly happened on the colony. Comms were disabled on the colony during the attack and only resumed _after_ the slavers left. Feeds from Secretary-General Melanie Harbor’s speech cut off after a sniper shoots her body. Out of respect of the Secretary-General and her family, we are not playing the footage nor are we releasing it.”

_Thank God._

“Currently, the Alliance, when pressed for a comment, didn’t answer on the nature of their investigations but said they continuing to find the bodies of colonists and look for survivors. In other news, Alliance Navy soldier Commander—”

After tossing his tablet aside he sprawled out on the couch before realizing the package was still unopen. He sat it on the small table in front of him and examined it. It was a large box without a return address on it. The box was larger than his head. With his fingernail, he split the adhesive open and found a hard box within it. He held it in his hands and pried it open. Inside was a small, folded paper sitting atop crumbled paper.

When he unfolded the paper, he realized it was an image, a photo of the café on Proserpina and it zoomed in onto Paxton looking over his tablet.

Paxton’s heart dropped from his chest as he tore through the box and found, sitting at the bottom, was a large turian helmet. His eyes widened as he lifted it in his hands and turned the front part towards himself. It was as if the turian was looking directly back at Paxton himself with a deathly glare.

It was then he remembered _all_ of it.

The heavy foot against his back, keeping him pressed against the ground. The tall turian looming above wearing the helmet and throwing it on the ground. Still, he could feel the heavy breathes from the turian’s face stinging his. It felt like a nightmare, but the turian’s voice reminded him he was, in fact, conscious.

The terror that rang in his body stuck with him, as if it was unleashed from dormant slumber of several years and flowed once more in Paxton’s body. He was stuck in the slaver’s control, unable to run or yell. From just his presence, the slaver had complete, absolute power over him. Paxton couldn’t talk, feel, or even think when this slaver was around. Subconsciously, he fell under his spell and had to obey his every command.

Fear consumed Paxton and devoured him whole.

Paxton saw the slaver clearly in his mind, saw him standing in the distance looking back at him with his purple eyes.

When Paxton opened his eyes turned the helmet around and saw two letters inscribed:

VH

His eyes were wide, almost bulging out of his head from the shock. Inside of his bag, his tablet was flashing with notifications. Slowly, with labored breathes he sat the helmet on the couch and crouched down to grab his tablet. He saw the messages pile up on the screen, all from the same sender, VH.

 **VH:** **It doesn’t matter what room you’re in or planet you’re on—I’ll be watching. I always am, Paxton.**

**I’ll strike when you least expect it.**

**So, go back to holding your mother’s hand, keep it close, because you’ll never when your blood stops flowing in your body and drains out from your head.**

Paxton, wrapped up in terror and shock, resisted the urge to collapse to the ground. As frightened as he was, he just wanted an answer. No one seemed to give him truth or any bit of information regarding Proserpina. The doctor brushed it to the side. Arcadius didn’t care. Alex didn’t care. His own friends didn’t care. All of the stupid bullshit from today was trivial, so pointless and unnecessary—only distracting Paxton from the truth. Thinking back to the people treated like beaten livestock only made desire answer. The fear he felt was insurmountable to the anguish of the colonists.

He knew _that_ to be true.

Even as his entire body told him to stop, his mind gnawed at him for even making such a daring move, but he did it anyways.

Paxton sent back a message.

**PAXTON HARBOR: Who are you?**

No response.

The lights in the started to flicker, slowly at first then it started to pick up in speed. It came to the point where the lights started to disorient Paxton and strain his eyes. The tablet slipped from his hands.

Melanie’s life support powered off. The heart rate monitor started to gain in speed.

_beep…beep…beep…BEEP_

Paxton tried to find out what was wrong with the machine, but the constant strobing from the lights and the sheer panic from his mother’s breathing, made his efforts weak. He tried to find a button to alert a nurse, and when quickly fumbled around, he gave it a sharp press. However, no alarm rang out. No light went off. Nothing.

_BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…BEEP_

He was stuck in the room, forced to witness his mother’s heart rate accelerate to dangerous levels as the terror from thinking about her oxygen loss paralyzed him. Between the strobing lights, he could faintly see his mother’s face; calm on the surface, but deep inside was screaming for life.

From the light that emitted from under the door, the hallway showed it also was suffering the same fate as Melanie’s room. There was scattered movement and yells from hospital staff who panicked at the power outage. Against the metal door, the officers who guarded Melanie’s room were struggling to get in.

The flickering off the lights slowed down, taking several seconds between when it was on and off. The same went for the life support, only momentarily giving oxygen in Melanie’s body before stopping. This cycle lasted for half a minute, but it felt like a never-ending nightmare to Paxton as watched his mother hang on the edge between conscious life, permanent brain damage, and death.

Whatever confidence he had channeled from Melanie was destroyed as he fell to her side, lifting her head upwards and holding her head in his hands. The terrible panic came over Paxton again as felt small, weak, and broken. As looked at his mother’s face, he could only shakily whisper out her name in her ear.

Then, it just stopped.

Her ventilator started flowing oxygen back into her body. The heart rate monitor came down to a steady pace, ending the constant beeps of her heart that flooded the room. With Melanie’s head in his hands, he just stared at her with a face pulled so deeply frown that it surprised him that his jaw didn’t break off.

_BIZZ…BIZZ_

The tablet ringed.

Paxton cautiously put his mother’s head back onto her pillow and kneeled at the ground. All the while he didn’t change his expression and was stiff. He wrapped his fingers around the device slowly as he saw, instead of messages, a call from VH.

He just stared at the screen, petrified at it. There was a great urge in him to throw his tablet out from his window, to stomp it under his boot, or crush it with the helmet. When he looked back at Melanie’s ventilator, he realized there was no other option but to obey.

Breathes.

All he could hear was VH’s breaths. Deep, loud breathing from the other end of the call. Paxton felt his heart rate rise faster than Melanie’s, his throat tightened faster than when he was around Arcadius, and a greater obscurity of emotion and turmoil than being in the same room as Alex.

Dread: it was all he could feel. An uneasy feeling of monumental worry and fear than in the alley on Proserpina. The same terror when looking at VH’s helmet; that dormant fear which ruled his body. It was familiar to Paxton: that familiarity didn’t give him relief, it only made the hairs on his body stand and teeth chatter. Like before, it was a memory he could not remember.

But _nothing_ came to his mind.

The turian’s breathing remained. Each breath Paxton could hear VH took sounded like a bomb detonating in his ear. It felt like a whisper; invading his mind, slowly suppressing any thought he had, and making his brain bleed with his personality. All that was left was primal fear.

VH cleared his throat, sending shockwaves down Paxton’s spine, and spoke. “You don’t _get_ to ask questions.” He curtly demanded. VH’s voice rang of authority, it’s deep and gruff tone only made Paxton feel lightheaded. “Do you understand?”

Paxton hesitated. His mouth shook to open, but a small part of his free mind kept it shut.

Melanie’s life support turned back off.

“I _said_ do you understand?”

“Yes, _sir._ ”

“Good,” VH growled. With his angrier tone, he somehow made himself sound like he took great pleasure in Paxton’s response. Then, Melanie’s life support turned back on, breathing back life into her. “do _not_ make me repeat myself ever again.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Trust me, Paxton,” The human’s body shook rapidly. He felt like he was submerged in freezing water, not only because of the coldness he felt around his body, but the constant shaking that took away his movement. “ _You will be._ ”

The call was ended, and the tablet slipped from his hands. Paxton stumbled his way towards Melanie’s bed and just watched her. He leaned against the bed, putting both hands down on it and throwing his head down. He took in a trembling breath and when he breathed out, he felt utterly defeated. His voice broke as he sighed.

Just looking at Melanie reminded him of VH’s total power over them. No matter what he did, Paxton felt that nothing could ever stop VH from destroying his life whenever he wanted to. Seeing Melanie’s face also brought up a deep anger. He abhorred seeing her lay in that bed, confined to a coma and unable to be herself. He thought of his mother’s stoic face when they were surrounded the slavers in the alley. The power she exuded; the determined stance to stand against multiple people with firearms pointed at her, the way she didn’t break when confronted with impossible odds.

He channeled Melanie in him and felt her energy rise in his body.

Paxton was in sync with his body, shivers along his arms raised his hair. He was in sync with his mind, focused solely on finding VH and finding the truth. He was in sync with his soul, his heart was filled with fire which consumed his body, only fastening the beating of his heart. Only the warmth of the room surrounded him while the coldness fleeted behind him, never able to catch up.

He grasped his mother’s hand and looked over her face. When he looked back at the helmet, he tightened his other hand into a fist.

Paxton knew what his mother would’ve done—he knew what he had to do:

Stop VH.

***

“Lights—off.” She said as she slipped into a small, dark room. The only light which filled the void between the four walls was from the window. It was covered with blinds so the purple-blue lights from the outside was cut into even lines onto the floor and across her face. She put her hands on her chair, took a deep breath, and stretched her back. The lights from the window illuminated her green eyes and when there was an orange light flaring, it made her brown skin glow. Half of her head was shaved, but her remaining long, curly, black hair extended past her shoulders. She sat at her desk and said, “Computer—on.”

From the computer came many different screens hovering above and around her, each relaying different websites, news vids, frantic writings, videos, and pictures—all regarding Proserpina. Multiple articles described the horrors about the slaver attack; first-hand accounts by shell-shocked survivors, photos and reports released by Alliance investigators, and photos and reports _not_ released by the same investigators, but instead stolen from her.

In one corner of the multiple windows of information was a looping video of Secretary-General Melanie Harbor getting shot down by a sniper. Each time she saw the video it built a strong urge to vomit. But that video reminded her of the disaster she averted.

All thanks to _him._

She enlarged a photo on her display, and it loaded a public identification form with a photo ID next to it. The name attached to the face in the photo read Paxton Harbor. She remembered seeing him come into that café every day for a week, isolating himself in a corner while he prodded and picked at his Omni-Tool. A strong throbbing in her chest erupted when she thought about him getting her the ticket out of Proserpina.

She owed him _everything_.

This Paxton Harbor…was he the key to solving this?

There was no good reason for her to pursue this, she figured it would only bring her danger. But something inside of her, whenever she saw his face, made her want to chase down whoever did this to Proserpina. Paxton Harbor was someone she thought she’d never see again. But now…now she felt the urge to give back the life he restored— _hers_.

She enlarged a photo of his body found on Proserpina; dirt, and blood, and ash smothered across his body and studied it. The girl bowed her head in frustration as she read over notes.

“Harbor…Proserpina…Slavers.” She whispered to herself while reading her frantic notes.

This couldn’t be a coincidence. Why attempt to assassinate the Secretary-General and leave her and her family alive? Something didn’t add up to her.

The girl slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out a box about the size of her hand. She found it in her mailbox only a few hours prior. Attached to the box was a handwritten note written in the standard, galactic trading language.

_I’m reluctant to help you…but these are unforeseen events_

_If you’re truly up to this, then I’m going to make sure you’re in this with me._

_—A friend_

Each time she read the message; it triggered a sinking feeling in her gut. It didn’t matter who it was from, as long as they could help her that’s what mattered. Inside the box was an Optical Storage Disk. It was about the size of her finger and thicker than her thumb, resembling a small disk enclosed in a plastic shell. She slid the OSD into her computer and watched as the files began to load across the display.

Whoever had sent the OSD included the files she stolen from the Alliance and made a note that she wasn’t as secretive as she had hoped as they included her IP address and exact coordinates; it was information she _sure_ she cleared with a fake security clearance. She wasn’t stupid after all, she knew—

The girl jumped from her chair and frantically scrolled through the files that continued to upload onto her computer.

Videos of the Harbors racing throughout Proserpina while being chased by three heavily armed and armored individuals who were, much to her disappointment, blurred out by the heavy distortion of the broken security footage. Messages of distress beacons that never were sent out. And classified damage reports that she hadn’t been able to steal. These…these were dangerously high level, classified documents.

She froze.

A live recording of her staring at the screen appeared. When she moved slightly, she saw herself move with it. Slowly she looked up at the corner of the wall and saw a tiny red dot blinking at her. If she wasn’t made aware of it, it would’ve easily missed her. She pushed her chair near the wall, stood on it, and yanked the tiny camera out of the wall.

She then feverishly jumped off the chair and smashed the camera under her boot until it became a small mess of broken parts of steel and wire. The live recording of her ceased and a warning symbol displayed over the feed, reporting a mechanical failure of the camera.

“Good, had to make sure you knew what we’re up against. Apologies for the intrusion.” Said a voice coming from her computer. The voice was obstructed under layers of filters, so it changed between sounding feminine and masculine, each with a different accent from various species, every other word. “And don’t try to search your apartment’s security cameras, I’ve already cleared them of me.”

She stood at the opposite end of the room with her fist tightened, her breathing fastened. “Who the hell are you?”

“An ally.”

“Bullshit,” She hissed, pacing towards the screen. She spoke under breath, violently. “Don’t be vague with me. How am I supposed to trust you, think of you as an ‘ally’ if you’re going to break into my home?”

“Because you will. You’ve already got yourself deep into this by stealing Alliance documents. We both were logged in with fake credentials, but there was something off about your connection and after that…it was easy to discover who you are. It was chance timing, really. I could very easily report you to the Human Embassy, but I didn’t, and _I won’t_. Help me help you. But if that’s not enough…I have more.”

The call ended and was replaced with live footage of Chaya Medical Center. There were multiple different security footage screens across her display. From the outside, the lights were flickering on and off. Inside there was medical staff racing the hallways as the power kept changing. It had only lasted for a short minute, but the frantic energy of the chaos in the hospital caused her stress.

Enlarged on her display was a hospital room. Besides the footage was information on its patient: Melanie Harbor. She gasped when she saw Paxton Harbor in the room with her. She saw him reach down and hold his mother’s hand.

The footage was closed and replaced stills from a security camera appeared, they were of her boarding a ship off Proserpina and arriving at the Citadel. More stills loaded of her walking down a street with her hands thrown into her pockets. Then private identification documents of her loaded onto the screen with several ID photos of her loaded, including school photos of her from when she was only a child. She stared at the photos of herself on the screen, her own image reflecting back at eyes. She couldn’t help but just look at herself when she just a kid.

“I’m only one person, friend. I can’t protect you or the Harbors, and not the people taken on Proserpina. As you saw, there’s very little done about the colony and the likelihood of the Alliance solving this decreases each day. The slavers have gotten away and this case is getting cold. They need to be— _have to be_ —stopped, but I can’t do it alone. I need your help. I know you can do it. You got yourself involved in this and there really isn’t any backing out now.

“Are you with me?”

She closed her eyes, wrapped her hands into a fist, and thought about the horrors she evaded. She thought about that the people treated like cattle that could’ve been her. She thought about the families who would never be reunited. She thought about the café she worked at, she hated it but now it was… _gone_. She thought about Melanie Harbor, Alexandria Harbor, and the one her who prevented her death…Paxton Harbor.

Justine Holguín opened her eyes, “I’m with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this if you decided to read BOTH chapters! Thank you so much if you have because it's a lot to me. I'd like to explain why the main plot doesn't move that much in this chapter. I originally wrote the first chapter in mid-2017 and started this one right after, but got lost on how to do it. It was only until mid-to-late 2019 where I got back to this story. I wrote this chapter to reintegrate myself into this story and remember the events of the first chapter.
> 
> While Paxton is trying to remember his past, so am I.
> 
> Also, this chapter is more on developing the people in Paxton's life and how he is with people outside of his mother and sister. Chapter 2 is, essentially, the inner and outer world of Paxton Harbor. But don't worry, the story isn't just focused on him!
> 
> Keep on reading!


	3. Another Route

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking place immediately after Chapters 1 and 2, Alexandria Harbor awakes to the ruins of Proserpina. Urged by her mother, she must find a way out of the colony before it’s too late. Through her pursuit she uncovers startling new information about her family and the slavers. It’s up to Alex to take action.

There was a deep, pulsating, pounding in her head; it felt like it was going to explode. All she could hear was a loud ringing; as if it were from a distance, but close enough to make her want to scream. Even if she wanted to scream, her jaw felt too heavy to even _think_ about opening it.

The taste of blood was strong; its iron flavor stinging her tongue. Sweat stuck onto her skin and held down the layer of ash that dotted across her body. When she lifted her hand, a sharp pain stretched from the side of her torso to down her legs. She breathed softly from her mouth and grimaced; breathing itself was now akin to stabs by knives. It took all of her might to throw her body upwards, but she, agonizingly so, managed to pull herself up and rest her weight onto her palms.

Alex opened her eyes.

All she could see was a thick cloud of smog around her. It was difficult to see just a few feet in front of her, and what she could see was debris on the ground. When she kneeled, she brought her hand to her face and felt dried blood from her nose. The blood from her nose had leaked onto her torn jumpsuit. And her neck her like hell. Alex turned her head to her side and saw two bodies.

Paxton and Melanie.

When she tried to move towards them, the sharp pain struck her body once more. She slammed to ground, landing next to her brother’s face. He looked so calm, so unaware of their situation. Paxton’s features were still, but, like her own, were messy with ash and blood. His arm was outstretched, it appeared he was trying to grab something. Alex, with a deep breath, kneeled again and shook his body.

“Pax…wake up…are you awake…get up,” Alex said slowly, her voice low when she put her hands across him. She turned him on his back and put her hands on his shoulders, shaking him in an attempt to wake him up.

Alex’s neck almost snapped when she spun her head around, hearing her mother coughing. Their eyes met each other. Melanie could barely keep her eyes open either from the ash that smothered her face or from her own exhaustion; probably both, Alex figured. They both looked at Paxton and then back at each other. Slowly, Melanie crawled into a fetal position and held her gut.

“Help,” Melanie wheezed, her voice low and hoarse. “find…help.” She wheezed again before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Even if she wanted to cry, nothing in her body produced any tears. She gave a slow nod to her mother. When Alex began to stand, she let out a weak shout. Her knees clicked together when she stood, and she had to balance herself by placing a shaking hand on a wall. She put her arm over mouth; the ash was making her choke.

After a quick glance at her family, she stepped forward. Her mind was solely focused on trying to find anyone, just _anyone_ who could get her out of this ruined colony. As she stumbled through the alley, she felt sick when she saw the bodies of the dead slavers litter the ground. Her stomach turned to knots. She could feel her last meal rise in her body. Alex put her hands on her knees, vomiting on the ground.

She was careful not to step in the thick blood of the slavers. Blood leaked out from every exposed part of their armor, especially from their helmets. But how did they die? All Alex could recollect was a massive electrical shockwave springing at the slavers and knocking her back against the wall. Regardless of how it happened, it was difficult not to stare down at their corpses. It was a sickening, gruesome, repulsive, but fascinating sight to Alex. It was hard to resist the urge to stare at their charred armor, fried weapons, and burned faces.

Alex used the flashlight from her Omni-Tool to guide her way through the streets. It was nighttime on Proserpina, and in any other situation, the sky would be great to lie down on grass and stare at the stars. But she had to keep moving. She had to.

Besides her flashlight, the only source of light emitting from the colony was the fires burning down farmland, shops, and when Alex lifted her arm from her face to smell, probably bodies, too. She kept looking for a functioning terminal, just any working device that could communicate with the rest of the galaxy. But there was nothing, no electronics, no terminals, and no generators that weren’t exploded. The Omni-Tool found no signals in the area. And detected no life.

Each time she saw a dead body—though more commonly _bodies_ —which were not hidden under armor, she resisted the urge to scream and vomit again. That urge was strengthened whenever she saw a glimpse of what was once a child. Alex kept her energy focused on moving out of the colony. She had to.

Occasionally, a building would collapse in on itself and she would run to beat the debris cloud. When debris did block her way, she’d have to climb up parts of fallen buildings or hop onto upturned cars to continue her path. At some points she had to squeeze herself through walls of warped metal, though her slim figure helped her get through tight areas it didn’t alleviate the very real thought that some blade or scrap of metal could fall and behead her.

She just wanted to get out of Proserpina. She never even liked it in the first place. Yes, she admired the quick ability of her fellow humans to build a colony, but she didn’t care to go in person. The Terminus Systems never made her feel safe. All she wanted was to go back to the Citadel. She just wanted to go home.

In the distance, Alex heard voices.

She turned off her flashlight and hid behind a wrecked car. Alex kept her body pressed against the car and turned to hear the voices. Slowly, she moved to where she could catch sight of the slavers speaking to each other without being caught.

There was a little more than a dozen slavers, all of them donned heavy purple and black armor. In the middle of their chest was a pattern; from her studies, it reminded her of a turian insignia, but it had a gear circled around it. Even with that pattern, all the slavers weren’t turians, most weren’t. There was a mixture of turians and batarians, with several krogans and asari gathered around a fire.

One asari stood in the center of the group, looking down at a datapad, and appearing to take reports from each of the slavers around her. She wore lighter armor, but from the sheer size of the gun on her side it looked she could kill Alex before she could even think about returning fire.

“When do you think we’re getting out of this place? I’m not excited for some Alliance cruiser to blow us up,” One frustrated krogan said to the group.

“He’s taking inventory. When he’s finished counting up the viable slaves, we’ll be set off this planet. The boss takes his time. You’re new, so let’s make something _very_ clear,” The asari stepped towards the krogan, pointing a finger in his face. “Whatever the boss orders, you listen. You’re getting paid, right?”

“Well, uh, yes.”

“Now, the boss doesn’t take too kindly to people who don’t follow orders. It’s simple, really, if you want to get paid, you _better_ keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told.”

“The pay _is_ pretty nice…” The krogan told himself.

“And if you want to continue getting paid and treated better than any other group in the Terminus than you really shouldn’t be talking that kind of shit when no is asking. Do your job, get paid, and when he needs for another mission, he’ll tell us. Otherwise, stay quiet.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” The asari curtly said as she checked her Omni-Tool. She looked over to a batarian working on a makeshift terminal. “Any ships coming our way?”

“No ma’am,” The batarian quickly replied, his eyes focused onto the screen. “Managed to deactivate the distress beacons and put the backup systems offline…temporarily. It’s the most I can do unless we physically destroy them ourselves. We have several hours before the Alliance is fully alerted. When the Alliance comes with their ships, they should only find those who managed to get away. We estimate that a few thousand remain, though more than half are accounted for and crossed off already.”

_That’s…that’s over 5,000 people._ Alex griped the gun even harder. _How are they doing this?_

“Even if any of them managed to find a working device,” Continued the batarian, “they can’t connect to the extranet or access any emergency communications.”

“Good. And what about Melanie Harbor and her children?”

_What the hell do they want with my family?_

“They are still in that alley untouched, per the orders from the top, ma’am. We have no reason to suspect any of them are to awaken anytime soon.”

“Good. It’s the utmost importance that we keep them alive. We cannot have anymore loose cannons like those died trying to kill them. The boss wants them alive.”

“Do you know why, ma’am?” The other asari from the group asked. “Harbor is dangerous. With all due respect to you and him—and I did hear what you said just a few moments ago—should we let Harbor remain free? She killed three of our men with shots to the head, killed more in the alley with just her Omni-Tool. I think we should—"

“He has his reasons. What may be logical to you, may not be logical to him. There is a reason you work _for_ him.” She turned to face the entire group. “Does anyone else have any more objections? For some reason, after a successful operation, we have two who do not understand the chain of command. Anyone?” No one answered. “Exactly; I shouldn’t even have to entertain this nonsense, especially from two new people.” She sighed and spoke under her breath, “We really need to update our vetting process.”

Alex grimaced. She had to fight the urge to mow down each of the slavers. All she wanted was to see them on the ground, dead, and bodies thrown into piles like what they did to the slaves— _people_ —that didn’t make it. Still, pressing in her mind, why were they were spared? _Something is wrong here; I just know it._

She knew she couldn’t get stuck in her emotions. Yes, she wanted them dead but knew her body would turn to a bullet sponge if she fought back. When she suppressed her anger, she began to think clearly again. They were going to be stuck here for hours, maybe even half a day until the Alliance could rescue them. If she could only get to that batarian’s computer and activate a distress beacon she’d be set. But how?

“Keep at it,” The asari said to the batarian, “The rest of you, meet up with the others at the ships. Move out.” The asari gestured with her gun to another area and left with the other slavers.

Alex focused her attention on the single batarian. She leaned back against the car and took several quiet, deep breathes. She scanned the area and noticed a dead security guard on the ground. A pistol was near the dead man’s hands. With a quick look back at the batarian, she crawled to the guard and snatched the gun.

Calmly, Alex stood up and held the gun between her fingers. She pointed the gun forwards. Whatever shakiness she had before, it was gone. Alex ignored the pain and exhaustion, instead she pressed on. There was only one thought in her mind:

_Get out of Proserpina._

She stopped by the car and thought for a moment. It seemed stupid, but she felt like she was out of options and simply waiting wasn’t going to save her mother and brother. Alex bit her lip, took in several deep breathes again, prayed to a god she didn’t believe in, and remembered what her mother taught her.

Alex moved forwards and aimed her pistol.

“Put your hands up, batarian,” Alex ordered. Her voice, even as weak and gravelly as she was, held confidence and power. The batarian visibly jumped. When he tried to reach for his sidearm, she didn’t hesitate; Alex pulled the trigger.

_BANG!_

The batarian fell to the ground, clutching his knee in horrible pain.

“Don’t even _think_ about calling out,” Alex moved quickly; her gun still pointed at the batarian and aimed it in the middle of his face. All four of his eyes were stuck on the barrel of the gun. There was no time for remorse in her mind. The fear etched into the alien’s face only strengthened her resolve. “Reactivation code. _Now_.”

The batarian inched his head upwards, as if he were trying to say something. His body was quaking. His mouth trembling faster than anything her paranoid brother could pull off. Alex kept a blank look on her face and an empty mind in her head. The batarian uttered something, but it was too quiet.

“Louder,” She demanded. The batarian tried, but it wasn’t successful. Alex slowly crouched down with her eyes locked on the slaver and fingers tightened around the trigger. “Again—”

The batarian lunged at her.

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Alex fired aimlessly into the sky as the slaver moved on top of her. When she tried to slam the butt of the pistol into his head, he knocked it out of her hands. The pistol landed only a few yards away. Several punches landed in the human’s face; her nose cracked and bled down. Alex grabbed the collar of his armor and slammed her head into the batarian. She did it twice more until the batarian held his head with pain. Alex smashed her fist into one the batarian’s eyes and jumped up.

The batarian grabbed her ankle and threw her back to the ground.

“Stand down, you damn bitch!” The batarian grumbled as she fought his grip.

“Get…” Alex swung her foot around, moving around the slaver’s arm. She looked at him straight in his eyes, sneering. Even though she didn’t care for Proserpina, this wasn’t his world. This wasn’t his people to enslave. This wasn’t his colony to pillage. This wasn’t a fight he was going to win. She managed to get her foot under the batarian’s jaw and swung upwards with all the energy she had left. “OFF!”

Several teeth flew out of the batarian’s mouth as he slammed against the ground. Alex ran towards the pistol. She kept darting back to the batarian and saw him unmoving. When she got to the gun, she took in several more breathes. She could see her blood and sweat drip onto the ground. Each drip slowly grew in size. She wiped her bleeding nose with her arm and picked back up the pistol, and then turned around.

Her heart dropped.

Two dozen slavers pointed their rifles at her. The red dots from some of their laser-guided scopes pointed at her head. The lowly batarian pressed upwards, and with a smirk along his beaten face, pointed his gun at her. The slavers saw a tall, young human with a bloody lower face, messy and tangled hair, dirty and ripped clothes, a jaw dropped with eyes opened wide. All she did was stare aimlessly at the crowd of slavers.

The slavers ordered her gun to be throw against the ground.

_I’m going to die._

The slavers ordered for her hands to be put in the air.

_I’m going to die._

The slavers took her hands and tied them around her back.

_We’re all going to die._

Alex’s mind was blank. She could barely think or get a thought across her scattered mind. Everything seemed like a blur to her. When they walked, they had to hold her from under each of her arms. The woman lost her energy, she had collapsed in their grip. They uttered dirty words to her, describing what they wanted to do to her body, but she stared at them blankly while they spoke.

When she looked around, there was only angry alien faces looking back at her who occasionally spat in her face. Gradually, Alex found her senses again and started to resist.

But it was too late.

There was silhouette of a large turian who stood in front of opened cargo bay doors at the back of a ship. Fellow slavers loaded in the bodies of unconscious humans into the cargo bay. Each human had an ankle bracelet on and a collar around their neck. The turian slaver stood with his hands on his hips, eyeing the human’s every move. The other slavers, as they got near him, bowed their heads at him as if he were some kind of great military dictator or divine being; whatever it was, it made her want to run faster than anything humanly possible, but her muscles froze. Standing back from him, the other slavers looked to him without breaking.

Alex was then thrown in front of him, eating the dirt. After she stopped coughing and wheezing, she looked up and saw him staring back down at her. She started crawling backwards, each time she pulled herself away her grip got tighter in the dirt. Turning her head from side to side, she saw slavers at all directions pointing their guns at her.

There was no escape.

The turian put his hand up, and the other slavers took it to bring down their guns. She kept looking up at him, her face growing with horror as he started approaching her. His hulking frame made every step he took to be more of a stomp. When her hand slipped as she crawled, she briefly looked at her hand and didn’t realize the turian had lunged at her.

The slaver brought Alex up into the air by wrapping one of his hands around her neck. He held Alex above his head, easily holding the 140-pound human without difficulty. Struggling to breathe, she gripped her hands around his large fingers, and she tried, desperately tried, without any success, to pry him off. When she kicked her legs, she got the resounding thud of heavy armor against her foot. It caused more pain to her than him, and that’s if he had felt _anything_ at all.

Alex gasped, feeling her face switch from her normal color to a bright, beating red. Sweat drained down from her forehead as the world grew dark. Her vision became blurred as Proserpina started getting dimmer. She then felt a sudden burst of energy where she furiously kicked her legs, fought her fading vision, and pushed her neck upwards for air.

She was thrown harshly back down to ground, coughing, and wheezing to breathe until she felt her hair long hair be yanked backwards. The turian crouched besides her, holding her hair in his fist and pointed his finger forwards. He brought his mouth to her ear and she could feel the stinging warmth from his breath.

“Look,” He ordered. His voice was hushed but the deepness, the utter revulsion in his snarling tone forced her to look forwards. There was no point to ordering her around, she couldn’t resist anything he did. A few feet away from them two slaver dropped the bodies of her family to the ground.

The slaver tossed her aside, walked towards Paxton and Melanie, and took out a pistol. The pistol he held was older, weathered, and was vaguely familiar. But right now she couldn’t think of anything besides seeing her family sprawled across dirt with a slaver between them.

The slaver crouched next to Paxton, bringing a hand down his head and back. He studied Paxton as if he were some kind of prize; gently sliding one of his fingers down Paxton’s face, he rolled some of Paxton’s messy hair around his ear and brushed off the grime on his face. Just from the way the turian examined, analyzed, _obsessed_ over her brother was disturbing in itself.

“STOP!” She screamed, but in her sorry state it was a slur of words from a person with blood in her mouth and dirt clogging her throat.

The slaver pressed the barrel of the gun into Paxton’s neck.

Alex felt, for some odd reason that went beyond logic, to stand. It took her a moment to prepare her body to stand as she gripped the dirt, pushed her weight upwards with excruciating pain, and wobbled upwards. She thought she was standing, but she actually was hunched over, holding her stomach, and felt her knees clicking together. But she kept a glare across her face, staring back at the slaver. She had to.

She spit out blood and spoke in a broken, guttural voice, “Stop.”

The turian dropped Paxton’s head and, instead, stood over Melanie. He slammed the back of his foot into her back, forcing her body to roll over. He raised his foot and kept kicking into her already weakened torso. And as soon as he started beating on her mother, which had caused some of her blood to be stained on his foot, he stopped abruptly and stared at Alex.

She could only watch as he paced to her and his gun slam into the side of her head. Alex collapsed, holding her head with the pulsing pain once more. She could see spots forming in her vision; little blurry, black dots which made her fear that she’d go blind. When she held her head in horrific, pounding pain she could now feel blood coming down from gashes on her forehead.

“You…” Alex’s speech at this point was slurred, she could barely muster up the strength to move her lips. Through the pain, and with the remaining adrenaline she had left, she continued to speak. “I know you won’t kill me, or them,” She clutched her stomach and spit out some blood onto his foot. “We’re too useful to you…you can try to intimidate me, but you’ve got no power and nothing…nothing without the Harbors.”

Alex suddenly rose in the air, though not from his tight grip, but from an even more powerful source. A warm, tingling feeling spread across her body as her arms and legs were reluctantly pulled to her sides. She rose until she matched with the turian’s massive height. He was… _glowing_. Around his body was a chaotic, fire-like glow of a bluish-purple. His eyes shone the same color, only emphasizing his purple eyes. The turian, _good God_ , was a biotic.

“You’re in no position to order me what to do and assume _you_ are of any use to me.” He growled, angrily holding his stare at her. “Don’t interfere with my men again unless…” He looked at her family and back at her, “I can _always_ go another route.”

The turian narrowed his eyes, tensed his muscles, and tightened his fist causing her to violently scream in a strained, high-pitched yelp. Her vision started flickering fast and could now only vaguely make out what she was hearing and seeing.

“…collect our casualties…Harbors back in alley… the source...”

Alex fought her impending unconsciousness, finding strength to regain vision. She saw, in a blurred sight, her family be thrown over the shoulders of the asari from earlier and a turian, and the main slaver in front of her still glaring. His face was dark and broken. From what she could make out in her state was that it was charred, as if it had been mauled or burned before, and it was missing some parts she couldn’t make out. Regardless, he looked like a monster from a child’s nightmare.

“Don’t make this a habit, _Alexandria_.”

The turian tightened his fist and it erupted into a flash of pulsating dark energy. He let it fester; it grew in his hand skillfully as he pulled his arm backwards. When he swung his arm forwards, his attack combined with the biotics around Alex’s body, which flew her backwards and sent her crashing across a hard-concrete ground.

***

Makeup was a powerful tool.

The green bruising on her face was slowly covered up by the makeup she applied. Alex opened her small vial of concealer and rubbed it under her eyes, along her jaw, and when she got to her nose, she made sure to be gentle when applying it. The white cream on her face faded, dissolving into a color that matched her skin tone. With that, her bruises were hidden from the world. Only the person looking back at her in the mirror knew reality.

Reality.

It became a funny word to Alex in the past week. At times, she felt like she was slipping from the real world and back into Proserpina. When she did, Alex managed to hide herself in a bathroom and collect herself. However, her relief was only temporary When she tried to go back out into the real world and talk with others, they just kept asking and prodding and making her remember Proserpina. She was repeatedly asked how survived. She couldn’t answer. The answer she gave was always that it was “too soon” but she truly _didn’t_ understand how.

Alex took her hairbrush and combed her hair.

Maybe she should take a cue from her brother and blend into the background. Maybe she shouldn’t thrust herself back into the real world so quickly. Maybe this stupid election was just that—stupid. But there was too much at stake. The only way she could get Proserpina out of her head, was just focusing on what was already put into motion.

What else could she do? She couldn’t curl into a ball and cry; it was both too painful to physically do so and impossible for her. Why bother with trying to look into it? What could she honestly do? Tell a C-Sec officer? Tell the Human Embassy? Hell, they’re in so much of scramble without her mother managing it that warnings from the secretary-general’s own daughter wouldn’t even do much. If she just avoided being suckered into that whole mess again, she and her brother would be just fine.

And she couldn’t let that damned Ataraxia win. Let alone a turian. This was _her_ chance. No other human had the shot to become student director of Asha. Her people depended on it. Her _career_ depended on it.

Alex took her eyeliner and started putting it on, emphasizing her intense, gray eyes.

She knew that small victories like becoming the first human student director of one of the most influential universities in the galaxy would only cement the growing power of humanity. Even if she lost, she would become deputy director. Regardless, her name would be broadcasted towards the galaxy and establish herself as a person of her own doing, and not of her riding off a last name. But Alex was in no mood to lose. She hated even having to think about the possibility to losing to Arcadius Ataraxia.

Alex took her crimson lipstick and drew a thick vertical line down the middle of her bottom lip.

_That smug turian bastard. He would just love to flaunt his power in my face if he could._ Alex couldn’t stand that pesky, conniving turian. Every moment she had to be around him was a drag. But considering how much she _is_ around Arcadius; some call them inseparable, but she says that’s he a peer and respected opponent to others—and a fucking moron to herself.

Alex stared back at herself in the mirror and threw her long hair behind her.

Down the side of her body was even more bruising. Splotches stretched across her stomach, up near her breasts, and stopped before it touched her collarbones. She was sore as hell, and the gradual stretches she did each day wasn’t doing much. On the dresser was a painkiller prescription and it became her new favorite part of her day to take her dosage; for a few hours, at least, the pain would be bearable.

After she changed out of yesterday’s undergarments and into today’s, she slipped on a high-collared, crimson sweater that matched her lipstick and tucked it into a black pencil skirt. She appeared free from Proserpina; it was as if it never touched her body. It was as if that slaver never touched her body. Or made it rise in the air.

And she loved it.

The further removed Proserpina was from her mind the better. All she could think about was how much she wanted to see the turian’s face drop with shock when he lost the election. Now _that_ would be cathartic.

“Ms. Harbor, you have an incoming call from Arcadius Ataraxia,” The gentle voice of her computer’s VI alerted her.

_Wonderful._

“Computer—accept call, audio only.”

“So, we’re still meeting for lunch in an hour with the Matriarch, Alex?” Arcadius asked, his voice flat and dull.

“If it wasn’t customary, then no,” Alex said, matching his lack of enthusiasm. “I’ll see you then. Computer—end call.”

Before he could reply, she hung up.

Alex looked around her room. On the walls were numerous awards, accolades, and photos with of her various politicians and military officials ranging from heads of government from Earth to alien officials, from when she was a late teenager to recent times. All photos had her standing by her mother, but only few included her brother. A framed acceptance letter from Asha was near her bed, along with a flag with the emblem of Asha hung on her wall.

But there was only one photo which caught Alex’s attention. In the photo two children, a young boy and girl, sat between an elderly man and woman. They had wide, toothy smiles across their face. She took the photo from the wall and sat at the edge of her bed, staring intently at the children. The children had their arms swung across the other’s shoulder. The little boy’s purple bandanna was comically large on his head and the little girl had two long pigtails. They, unlike herself and Arcadius, were actually inseparable.

“Ms. Harbor, you have an incoming call from your doctor from Chaya Medical Center, Dr—”

“Computer—accept call, audio only,” Alex got up from the bed with a sigh and hung the photo back on the wall. “Hello?”

“Ms. Harbor, there’s been an, albeit now resolved, event at Chaya.” Dr. Santé said.

Alex jumped up and paced towards her desk, sitting herself in her chair. Her face morphed into confusion. “What,” She stammered. “What do you mean? Is my mother alright?”

“There was a large power outage at the entire facility last night for a minute. Fortunately, your mother and no other patients were thankfully harmed or affected in any way.”

“Don’t you have backup generators for that very reason?” Alex’s face flushed as she tightened her fist. “Isn’t Chaya supposed to be one of the best hospitals on this station? Aren’t there supposed to be a failsafe—multiple failsafe’s— for when an event like that occurs? If Chaya isn’t up to the task of performing basic life support to patients when the power goes out—if they can’t keep her _alive_ —I may need to remove my mother from your care, Doctor.”

“I apologize on behalf of Chaya. I understand why you’re upset,” The doctor’s voice was weaker than before. She just wanted to scream at him. “Ms. Harbor, the only… _issue_ with what you’re saying is that Chaya _does_ have that equipment. I may lose my clearance for telling you this, but it needs to be said to _someone_.” The doctor cleared his throat, his voice now a whisper, “But it wasn’t just a simple power outage. That’s what the facility is _publicly_ saying.”

“And privately?”

“It was a full-on attack on our systems. Something was powerful enough to disrupt and control our defenses. The attacker left without leaving a trace,” Dr. Santé’s voice was stricken with fear as Alex, alarmed, moved closer to the screen. The light hairs on her arms poked up from her skin. “C-Sec is investigating, but I’m just concerned what or who could wield this much power over a hospital on the Citadel! _The Citadel!_ ”

“Enough power to control a colony,” Alex’s voice was flat, but her heart was set to detonate in her chest and explode all over the walls. Sweat dripped down from her forehead. Her hands, and her body overall, was frozen. There was little movement in her body until she gradually turned her head back to the children in the photo.

“Yes, probably so, Ms. Harbor, I—”

Before he could reply, she hung up.

Alex got up from her chair and put her hands in her face. She paced around the room, walking back and forth with slow, deliberate steps.

She could feel her arms be grabbed by the slavers, the blood in her mouth, and the pinch of the turian’s armored fingers on her face. She could see the bodies of her family before her and the gun pointing to Paxton’s head. This couldn’t be a coincidence. The very hospital where her and her family stayed at? The day her brother visited her mother. Now she felt like a fucking moron. The slaver warned that if she interfered—but _she_ didn’t.

Alex picked the photo off the wall and stared down at the boy in the photo. Someway, somehow, he knew about the slavers. He had to. And she was going to find out. She had to. She traced her finger down the boy’s face and gripped the frame tighter.

If the slavers were going to force her hand by striking first on the Citadel—without any of interference from her—she had to fight back. Letting this fall by the wayside would be unavoidable, not to mention stupid and fatal. As much as she didn’t want to play along to that slaver’s games, as much as she wanted to press forward in her life and leave this behind her, as much as she wanted to not interfere with the slavers—she couldn’t. If Alex and her family were of some sort of sick use to this turian, she no option but to resist being a tool for whatever he wanted.

Out from her dresser, she pulled out a hard, black case. When she pressed in a code on the side that her mother made her memorize and unclipped the case, it cracked open. Inside, staring back at her, was a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while--almost a year, yeesh--and, I've been thinking that I think it's important to have shorter chapters instead of long-winded ones. I think it's easier for me to write and for people to read. This was supposed to be the "intro" to the original full-length Chapter 3, but I think if I can post more frequently, it will be better. I feel the scenes in the original Chapter 3 are independent enough from each other for it to warrant its own chapter. 
> 
> For the next several chapters the story will alternate perspectives between Alex and Paxton and their own investigations into the Proserpina Incident. 
> 
> Also I'm putting off another run of the Mass Effect series until the remaster comes out, so I'm really hoping it's out sometime soon.
> 
> I hope everyone will have a safe and healthy 2021! I hope the next year is better than the hellscape that was 2020. And I hope you all enjoy and keep reading! See you all soon!

**Author's Note:**

> If you're confused by the weird indentations in the story, then that makes the two of us. I copied and pasted this from a Word document and it came out like this.
> 
> Anyways, if you're at this point you've finished the chapter or skipped down below to comment that you didn't like it. Regardless, at least someone is paying attention to it. I've posted a way different version of this story a couple years ago, and you know, I just couldn't let it go. Something was just compelling me to write this. From here on out, I'm only going to fix grammar issues with this chapter because I spent too long adding and removing things. 
> 
> I hope you will stick around and see what happens to Paxton Harbor!


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